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BY 


MRS.  ANGIE  F.  NEWMAN. 


“  Neither  pray  I  for  these  alone,  but  for  them  also  which 
shall  believe  on  me  through  their  word.” 


CINCINNATI  : 

PRINTED  BY  HITCHCOCK  &  WALDEN. 

1878. 


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HEATHEN  AT  HOME.” 


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BY 


MRS.  ANGIE  F.  NEWMAN. 


“Neither  pray  I  for  these  alone,  but  for  them  also  which  shall  believe 
on  me  through  their  word.” 


CINCINNATI: 

PRINTED  BY  HITCHCOCK  &  WALDEN. 

1878. 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

MRS.  ANGIE  F.  NEWMAN. 
1878. 


jN  the  preparation  of  these  pages  I  have 
had  a  twofold  purpose.  To  the  unin¬ 
itiated  it  may  seem  a  work  of  supereroga¬ 
tion.  In  my  own  experience  in  the  work  of 
the  Woman’s  Foreign  Missionary  Society,  ex¬ 
tending  through  many  of  the  Western  States, 
I  have  found  both  ministry  and  laymen  affected 
with  the  strange  delusion  of  “Heathen  enough 
at  home.”  Whether  winding  up  the  narrow 
canons  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  the  villages 
on  the  plateaus,  or  rushing  down  and  out  to  great 
throbbing  commercial  centers — all  along  the  line  this 
morbid  sentiment  has  reared  itself  as  a  huge  bowlder 


in  my  pathway,  threatening  to  crush  the  foot  so  bold 
as  to  approach  it.  My  own  heart  has  stood  still  in 
its  presence  until  I  have  crept  away  into  the  shadow 
of  the  Great  Rock.  “For  it  was  not  an  enemy  that 
reproached  me;  then  I  could  have  borne  it:  neither 
was  it  he  that  hated  me  that  did  magnify  himself 
against  me;  then  I  would  have  hid  myself  from  him: 
but  it  was  thou ,  .  .  .  mine  equal,  my  guide, 

and  mine  acquaintance.  We  took  sweet  counsel 
together  and  walked  to  the  house  of  God  in  com- 

3 


4 


Preface. 


pany.  .  .  .  He  hath  delivered  my  soul  in  peace 

from  the  battle  that  was  against  me.”  But  “there 
were  many  zvith  me.” 

This  western  theory,  I  am  persuaded,  is  but  an 
echo  of  eastern  thought.  Therefore,  in  full  assur¬ 
ance  that  the  position  is  indefensible,  I  have  striven, 

1.  So  to  adjust  the  camera  of  God’s  truth  to  the 
soul  of  the  objector,  as  to  photograph  his  error. 

2.  I  plead  with  him  to  change  his  position  ere  a 
divine  hand  is  laid  upon  the  plates  for  a  final 
impression. 

Doubtless  there  are  many  writers  who  could  have 
produced  a  more  vivid  picture.  But  trained  hands 
know  no  leisure;  hence,  discarding  any  attempt  at 
artistic  effect,  I  send  forth  these  pages  freighted  with 
prayer,  that  they  may  supply  a  felt  need  of  the 
“Woman’s  Foreign  Missionary  Society.” 

A.  F.  N. 


Part  I . 


HE  great  American  public  of  to-day  is  a  self- 
constituted  jury  for  the  trial  of  Woman.  In 
the  ecclesiastical  courts  she  is  charged  with 
embezzlement.  In  deference  to  her  sex,  doubt¬ 
less,  the  indictment  reads : 

“Creating  an  uproar  in  the  Church,  with  false  state¬ 
ments  concerning  an  unknown  country,  with  consequent 
diversion  of  the  funds  of  said  Church  from  legitimate  to 
‘heathen’  uses.” 

One  among  the  arraigned,  in  behalf  of  my 
sisters,  of  “felonious  intent,”  I,  Angie  F.  New¬ 
man,  plead  “  Not  guilty ,”  and  submit  the  following 


DEFENSE. 

“©fjc  ©ro ss,  tl)c  jFIag:  not  jsjmonsms,  but  snim&tnt  anti 

xonsqucnt.” 

Thus  often  spake  my  good  father,  of  blessed  memory, 
and  trained  my  child-eyes  to  see  upon  every  hill-top  of  this 
fair  land,  glistening  in  sunlight  or  shadow,  the  cross  of 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ;  just  beneath  it,  in  the  valley,  the 
stars  and  stripes, — stars,  as  the  firmament,  to  go  no  more 
out,  because  set  by  the  stripes  of  blood.  Before  each 
emblem  the  inscription,  “Whosoever  will,  let  him  come.” 

Hereby  was  I  made  to  believe  that  whoever  fleeing 

5 


6 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


from  bondage  in  other  lands,  though  they  touch  our 
shores  with  feet  never  so  bound  and  bleeding,  if  straight¬ 
way  they  gave  allegiance  to  these  symbols  of  our  national 
greatness,  their  chains  should  snap  asunder,  their  wounds 
heal.  My  child-lips  were  thus  taught  to  bless  the  dear 
All-giver,  that  he  had  granted  me  birth  and  such  heritage 
in  such  land.  I  grew  to  womanhood  strong  in  the 
father- faith. 

June  was  the  morning.  Nature  had  dressed  herself 
royally,  as  if  for  a  coronation.  Unwisely?  Crowns  are 
often  woven  ere  Submission  has  passed  the  outer  Geth- 
semane  gate. 

A  whole  regiment,  and  our  noblest,  were  drawn  up 
in  line.  They  were  going  away  to  strike  for  freedom’s 
altar,  then  sleep  in  southern  morasses.  There  was  an¬ 
other  line,  of  fair,  fragile  ones;  each  of  whom,  in  steady¬ 
ing  this  cup  of  sacrifice  to  other  lips,  had  herself  drank 
the  dregs.  But  we 

“  Crushed  the  coming  tears  back, 

With  the  whispered  word,  He  knows;” 

and  with  hand-clasp,  which  tightened  in  its  loosening — 
apprehension,  blessing  in  the  lingering  pressure  —  hearts 
uttered  farewells,  lips  refused.  We  caught  the  last  flash 
of  the  glistening  bayonets.  My  heart  leaped  with  love 
for  the  flag  they  bore, — because  it  waved  above  my  fa¬ 
ther;  because  it  was  the  emblem  of  God’s  country;  be¬ 
cause  to  die  to  preserve  its  luster  was  but  to  lend  a  hand, 
to  hold  ajar  the  gates  of  religious  freedom  until  the  mill¬ 
ions  of  fugitive  pilgrims  who  could  enter  heaven  through 
no  other  channel  should  have  passed  in. 

Pardon  the  fancy,  reader.  If  any  thing  material  may 
survive  the  wreck  of  death,  it  seems  to  me,  it  should  be 
the  old  flag.  The  hands  which  clutched  it  in  the  death- 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


7 


chill  should  in  their  immortality  find  it,  and  without 
sacrilege  be  permitted  to  drape  the  eternal  entrance,  that 
the  redeemed  from  benighted  lands  might  for  a  moment 
gaze  upon  it  as  they  forever  passed 

“The  rock  waste  and  the  river.” 

Later,  when  it  was  told  me  they  had  laid  away  my 
father  in  a  grave  I  might  not  see,  I  said,  though  heart 
was  dumb  with  grief;  ’T  is  well.  His  tomb  shall  form  a 
part  of  that  great  cross  to  which  a  nation  was  nailed 
until  it  bowed  its  head  in  agony.  Our  fathers  are  dead; 
liberty  is  risen. 

Years  lapsed.  Then  came  a  tale  across  the  seas  (the 
winds  had  been  contrary,  and  it  was  late)  of  mothers  (in 
multitude  such  as  no  man  could  number)  in  bondage  so 
bitter  that  out  of  the  very  depths  of  mother-love  they 
were  tossing  their  babes  from  breast  to  billow,  lest  inno¬ 
cence  wear  chains;  a  bondage  physical,  so  weird,  so 
terrible,  so  unrelenting,  words  shrivel  before  it;  a  bondage 
of  mind  so  absolute  the  very  name  of  woman  was  a  toy 
to  be  kicked  aside  at  the  caprice  of  him  who  wearied  of 
her;  a  bondage  of  soul,  such  as  might  have  been  a  spear 
to  pierce  a  Savior’s  side. 

A  few  brave  men  from  England  and  America,  moved 
by  a  divine  bravery  which  sea-waves  could  not  jostle, 
having  set  the  home  loves  away  in  the  heart’s  holy  of 
holies,  had  dared  perils  and  defied  death  to  make  possible 
the  emancipation  of  enslaved  and  enslaver.  They  had 
endured  long  toil,  weary  vigils,  nights  of  prayer.  Re¬ 
doubts  had  been  taken.  But  woman ,  the  voiceless,  the 
unresisting,  tortured,  bound,  was  still  beyond  the  pale  of 
man’s  effort.  Shut  in  the  tower  of  the  centuries,  she 
might  not  come  forLh,  even  to  execution.  Man’s  most 


8 


“Heathen  at  Home.” 


subtle  device  availed  nothing  to  effect  secret  entrance. 
He  could  construct  no  ladders  to  scale  the  heights. 

At  last  it  was  found — how,  we  know  not;  perchance 
the  Great  Liberator  whispered  it;  there  was  a  duplicate 
key.  It  was  lost  in  the  Dark  Ages.  It  rusted  in  the 
massive  lock  at  the  Eastern  gateway.  There  was  a  single 
hand,  divinely  guided,  could  move  it,  Christian  woman’s. 

Ann  Hasseltine  Judson  touched  it;  the  key  clicked  in 
the  lock;  the  hinges  turned  with  a  creak  which  startled 
the  world.  Mrs.  Judson  passed  in.  The  damp  air  from 
festering  wounds  chilled  her,  and  she  fell.  But  she  had 
set  up  the  brazen  image,  and  Sorrow’s  eyes  peered  toward 
it  from  grated  windows. 

Another  and  another  heroic  woman  stepped  steadily 
into  the  breach,  to  grow  pale  with  anguish  that  she  had 
but  one  pair  of  hands  to  loosen  fetters,  one  tongue  for 
the  ministry  of  words;  and  in  the  excess  of  effort  perish. 
One  was  hurried  away,  only  to  find  entombment  by  the 
island  grave  of  the  French  exile.  (Did  God  suffer  it, 
that  the  place  of  banishment  should  be  visited  with  the 
ministry  of  tears?)  Another  slept  beneath  the  yew-tree’s 
shade.  Many  in  that  vast  martyr-vault  which  the  angels 
guard,  called  “Nameless.” 

Some  came  back  across  the  parted  waters,  stood  in 
Christian  amphitheaters,  and  with  lips  wasted  to  thinness 
by  the  fever  of  the  heart,  proclaimed  the  hunger  and  the 
want  of  the  imprisoned  legions,  and  shouted,  “Rouse  ye, 
Christian  sisters;  pluck  these  thorns  from  Sorrow’s  crown, 
and  place  them  as  stars  in  your  own.” 

Women  redeemed  from  spiritual  bondage  by  the  blood 
of  the  Only  Son,  women  redeemed  from  civil  thralldom  by 
the  blood  of  their  own  sons,  the  very  fibers  of  whose  souls 
trembled  with  the  price  of  liberty,  counted  the  cost,  and 
said,  We  are  able.  So  the  reform  came,  at  first  low  and 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


9 


sweet,  like  the  voice  of  angels.  By  them  told  at  the  inner 
gate.  A  little  band  of  eight,  without  money,  without  ships, 
without  agents,  met  together  and  adjusted  a  plan,  and 
assumed  a  name,  “  W.  F.  M.  S.”  Mystic  initials,  sug¬ 
gestive  to  the  eight  rather  of  absence  of  strength  than 
repleteness  of  possibility.  Eight,  and  “God  with  us.” 

So  they  multiplied.  By  divine  arithmetic  zero,  raised 
to  the  highest  power,  became  a  ftoivcr  from  which  many 
roots  were  extracted.  These  roots  were  expanded  again 
and  again,  resultant  at  length  in  a  working  force  of  such 
magnitude  as  to  be  felt. 

To  that  phase  of  the  work  known  as  “organizing 
auxiliaries,”  in  localities  in  metropolitan  dialect  styled 
“the  borders,”  the  writer  was  assigned.  I  went  forth 
with  strong  confidence  in  a  theme  the  most  prolific,  possi¬ 
bilities  the  most  far-reaching,  of  time  past  or  time  to  come. 

I  announced  the  miracle  of  the  ages  :  the  door  of  the 
charnel-house  of  the  world  had  swung  upon  its  hinges  by 
woman’s  delicate  touch.  At  no  other  had  the  stone,  the 
watch,  or  the  seal  stirred.  This  door  was  bolted  and 
sentinel -guarded,  even  when  our  Savior  pillowed  his 
throbbing  temples  upon  the  pitying  rocks,  amid  the  night- 
dews  of  the  Judean  hills.  These  bars  shut  in  women  and 
babes,  guilty  of  no  offense  save  that  in  their  sepulchral 
home  the  sob  of  the  crucifixion,  the  chorus  of  the  ascen¬ 
sion,  were  alike  inaudible;  women  whose  ancestry,  like 
themselves,  through  all  the  ages  had  traversed  a  vale  of 
sorrow,  forever  moaning,  “Father,  if  it  be  possible,  let 
this  cup  pass  from  me.”  To  this  vast  multitude,  in  this 
golden  era — our  day — is  woman  sent  to  loosen  the  napkin 
and  bid  the  dead  come  forth  to  resurrection  and  life 
eternal. 

How  my  own  blood  leaped  in  my  veins!  How 
clearly  I  saw  the  pulse  of  the  Church  jut  up  to  fever  heat 


IO 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


as  she  listened  to  the  thrilling  facts!  For,  verily,  had  not 
the  King  said:  “Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one 
of  the  least  of  these,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me.”  “I  was 
an  hungered,  and  ye  gave  me  meat;  I  was  thirsty,  and 
ye  gave  me  drink;  sick,  and  ye  visited  me.  I  was  in 
prison ,  and  ye  came  unto  me.”  “Come,”  therefore, 
“inherit  the  kingdom.” 

Toiling  not  long,  I  suddenly  awakened  to  a  bewil¬ 
dered  sense  of  incongruity  of  conditions.  My  brothers 
and  sisters,  with  whom  I  had  often  sung: 

“  Shall  we,  whose  souls  are  lighted 
With  wisdom  from  on  high, 

Shall  we  to  men  benighted, 

The  lamp  of  life  deny? 

Salvation,  O  Salvation  ! 

The  joyful  sound  proclaim, 

Till  earth’s  remotest  nation 
Has  learned  Messiah’s  name;  ” 

from  whose  lips  I  had  often  heard  the  petition : 

“My  gracious  Master  and  my  God, 

Assist  me  to  proclaim, 

To  spread  through  all  the  earth  abroad, 

The  honor  of  thy  name,” 

repulsed  this  appeal,  assured  me  I  was  chasing  a  delusion, 
wasting  my  own  energies,  and  would  divert  those  of  the 
Church.  I  need  not  stretch  my  puny  arms  across  the  seas 
to  .touch  idols.  There  were  “heathen  enough  at  home” 
(whose  home  deponent  saith  not). 

Women,  filling  the  sacred  office  of  motherhood,  and 
teaching  child-lips  to  whisper,  “Thy  kingdom  come,” 
spurned  the  message  and  the  Spring-tide  in  their  own 
wave  of  opportunity,  and  said,  virtually,  Tell  the  Lord 
of  the  harvest  my  own  grapes  need  pruning,  (as  though 
he  were  unconscious  of  the  fact). 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


i  x 

Men  of  marvelous  chivalry,  when  the  goddess  of  their 
own  liberty  sat  on  a  tottering  throne,  now  said  of  her, 
“She  is  a  ‘home’  queen.  Her  policy  is  non-aggressive. 
Her  ‘sphere’  has  boundaries  which  must  not  be  enlarged 
lest  her  ‘home’  luster  be  destroyed.  All  men  are  created 
free  and  equal,  never  mind  the  women.” 

My  heart  sickened;  am  /  the  fanatic,  the  dreamer? 
In  this  land  of  Christian  freedom  is  love  for  freedom  a 
misnomer?  Must  I  question  at  last  the  sublime  faith  in 
God’s  country,  which  glorified  the  death  of  my  good 
father?  Was  the  sweet  trust  of  my  sainted  mother  a 
farce  ?  Do  I  really  breathe  the  heavy  air  of  a  heathen 
land  ? 

To  strengthen  my  own  staggering  faith  and  silence  my 
objectors,  I  summoned  an  illustrious  line  of  witnessess 
whose  lives  went  out  as  a  fragrance  diffused  mid  noxious 
vapors. 

William  Carey,  name  standing  as  a  gateway  to  the 
Orient. 

Adoniram  Judson,  peerless  man,  who  gave  thirty  years 
of  toil  to  the  translation  of  the  entire  Bible  into  the  Bur¬ 
mese  tongue — a  master-stroke  for  liberty,  which  paralyzed 
a  master-hand.  Then  strangers  gave  him  sea-sepulture, 
lest  his  great  heart  have  unrest  in  narrower  grave. 

Harriet  Newell,  the  first  woman-martyr  stretched  upon 
death’s  altar,  a  voluntary  offering  for  India.  “Greater 
love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life 
for  his  friends.” 

Our  beloved  Bishop  Thomson,  who  said : 

“Indian  idolatry  has  touched  bottom.  As  I  stood  in 
the  holy  city  of  Benares,  contemplating  the  odiousness, 
the  obscurity,  the  discord,  the  beastliness  of  that  center 
of  pagan  worship,  I  thought  surely  it  can  get  no  lower 
without  opening  the  mouth  of  hell.  .  .  .  As  I  looked 


12 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


upon  a  fakir  seated  by  the  Ganges,  naked,  haggard,  worn 
to  a  skeleton,  and  covered  with  ashes,  I  thought  I  knew 
what  it  was  to  be  damned.  .  .  .  This  great  moral 

pest-house,  this  Babel  of  devils,  God  has  put  into  the 
power  of  one  of  the  most  enlightened  Christian  nations 
on  earth.  .  .  .  The  railways  she  has  constructed  are 

so  many  iron  arteries  pumping  Christian  blood  through 
the  native  veins.  Her  schools  are  so  many  batteries 
thundering  at  the  crumbling  battlements  of  error;  her 
missions  are  so  many  brains  thinking  new  and  better 
thoughts.  .  .  .  As  to  take  Richmond  is  to  shake  out 
the  rebels  of  the  United  States  from  the  Potomac  to  the 
Rio  Grande,  so  to  christianize  India,  owing  to  its  key 
position  in  heathendom,  is  to  shake  out  the  idols  from  the 
face  of  the  whole  earth.  ...  I  looked  down  upon 
the  plain  of  the  Ganges  and  I  knew  that  in  the  mountains 
on  the  one  side  there  beat  six  hundred  thousand  hearts, 
and  in  the  plains,  on  the  other,  fifty  millions,  and  I  said, 
‘These  all  belong  to  Christ.’  ‘Ask  of  me  and  I  will  give 
thee  the  heathen  for  an  inheritance.’” 

A  prophecy  to  be  realized  in  the  crystallized  civiliza¬ 
tions  of  the  East. 

“But,”  continued  the  Bishop,  “Satan  need  not  trouble 
himself  about  Adam  after  he  had  captured  Eve,  nor 
will  India  be  retaken  from  him  until  we  imitate  his  tac¬ 
tics.  .  .  .  Hath  not  God  commanded  and  shall  not 

we  obey?  India  brought  to  Jesus  may  lie  like  John  in 
the  Master’s  bosom.  Though  no  man  hear  and  no  man 
pity  you  must  plead ,  though  you  tell  your  truth  and 
sorrow  to  the  stones.” 

Bishop  Kingsley:  he  had  traversed  the  land  of  the 
Yang-tse.  He  said  of  her  civilization:  “All  China  has 
been  walking  backward  for  centuries,  in  order  to  see 
what  is  behind  her.” 


“Heathen  at  Home.” 


13 


Of  her  classic  faith:  “Confucius  declined  saying  any 
thing  about  a  future  state,  though  besotig/it  to  do  so.” 

Of  general  education:  “Taking  the  whole  country 
together,  not  more  than  one  man  in  fifty  can  read  a  Chi¬ 
nese  book,  and  not  one  woman  in  five  hundred.” 

Of  her  social  customs:  “A  fashionable  Chinese  lady 
is  a  cripple  for  life.  It  would  be  less  a  calamity  and 
involve  vastly  less  suffering  to  have  her  feet  cut  off  at 
once  in  infancy,  and  have  some  wooden  feet  fitted  up  to 
suit  the  absurd  fashion.” 

“Females  in  China  never  appear  in  public  gatherings 
until  after  they  become  Christians.  Even  then  it  takes  a 
long  time  to  overcome  the  prejudice  of  ages.”  “Shall 
we  go  into  the  houses  of  the  natives  and  tell  them  the 
story  of  the  cross.”  “They  would  much  sooner  admit 
the  fatal  cobra.”  “No  man,  not  even  one  of  their  own 
countrymen,  is  permitted  to  come  into  the  presence  of 
their  wives.”  .  .  .  “Let  those  reformers  who  seek  to 

elevate  women  by  turning  their  backs  upon  Christianity, 
beware  1” 

Upon  landing  in  Yokohama  the  Bishop  wrote:  “We 
are  now,  for  certain,  in  a  heathen  land.  The  Jap¬ 
anese  coolies,  men  and  women,  the  former  almost  entirely 
naked,  the  women  with  a  single  rag  of  a  garment  from 
the  hips  down,  are  employed  to  move  freight  to  and 
from  the  ships.  .  .  .  Not  one  in  a  million  in  Japan 

is  Christian,  but  the  Japanese  acknowledge  the  superior 
civilization  of  Christian  nations,  and  are  anxious  to 
improve.” 

Traversing  the  Ganges,  he  wrote:  “Probably  not  one 
female  to  a  thousand  males  is  seen  in  a  trip  through 
India,  and  these  are  the  lower  castes.”  “With  both  Hin¬ 
doos  and  Mahommedans  women  are  regarded  as  the 
ignorant,  unquestioning  slaves  of  their  lords.” 


14 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


The  Bishop  passed  from  these  to  other  scenes.  He 
stood  amid  the  ruins  of  the  Holy  City.  He  knelt  in 
Gethsemane’s  vale.  The  Spirit  fell  upon  him.  He  went 
out  upon  the  housetop ;  gazed  mutely  upon  the  ever  to-be 
visible  footprints  of  the  Lamb.  Then  his  vision  leaped 
beyond  the  land  of  sacrifice  to  the  limitless  plains  he  had 
just  left  where,  under  the  very  shadow  of  Calvary,  sorrow 
had  held  high  carnival  for  eighteen  centuries.  The  wail 
of  the  dying  in  chains  swept  in,  blended  with  the  re¬ 
quiem  which  had  hung  upon  the  Palestine  air  since  the 
starless  night,  smote  upon  his  soul,  and  his  great  heart, 
too  human  to  bear  its  agony,  beat  against  its  cage,  and 
he — was — dead. 

The  sainted  Dr.  Eddy,  whose  memory  is  a  fragrance, 
whose  lips  muttered  in  the  death  chill,  “Tell  the  Church 
to  lay  down  her  gold  for  the  cause  of  God  and  of 
missions.” 

Dr.  Butler,  who,  surviving  the  horrors  of  Lucknow  and 
Cawnpore,  came  back  to  tell  the  horrible  tale,  display  the 
instruments  of  slaughter  of  three  hundred  and  one  brave 
women,  and  plead  as  one  pleads  for  the  life  of  his  friend — • 
for  prayers,  and  pennies  to  save  their  murderers.  Then 
he  wrote  “The  Land  of  the  Veda,”  and  drew  such  a  pic¬ 
ture  as  the  eye  of  civilization  had  never  seen,  of  woman 
from  the  cradle  of  innocence  to  the  more  welcome  cradle 
of  death,  the  tyrant  superstition  swaying  above  her  the 
Hindoo  scepter  as  she  slept,  or  thrusting  a  lance  into  her 
vitals  at  any  symptom  of  awakening. 

“Ye  happy  American  mothers,”  wrote  the  Doctor,  “it 
will  be  a  satisfaction  to  you  to  reflect  that  the  lady  mis¬ 
sionaries  whom  your  societies  are  now  sending  to  that 
land,  and  who  carry  right  into  the  center  of  these  homes 
your  Christian  sentiments  and  feelings,  may  be  designed 
of  God  to  work  out  a  remedy  for  an  evil  which  has  hith- 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


i5 


erto  defied  human  law  and  all  that  man  alone  could  do 
for  its  extirpation.” 

With  these  testimonies,  and  many  others  from  silent 
or  living  lips,  I  went  again  upon  my  mission,  believing, 
though  the  multitude  heeded  not  my  broken  utterances, 
these  voices  from  the  blessed  dead  or  the  beloved  living 
would  be  a  Imu  unto  the  Church  they  serve. 

“Alas  for  the  rarity, 

Of  Christian  charity.” 

The  dissonance  of  that  mysterious  refrain,  “There  are 
heathen  enough  at  home,”  grated  afresh  upon  my  soul. 
“This  foreign  work  is  a  very  misty  affair;  it  savors  of  dis¬ 
tance,  of  doubt,  of  probable  failure.  We  hold  these 
statements  as  gross  exaggerations.”  (To  think  the  grand¬ 
est  men  of  the  Christian  world  could  be  so  arraigned.) 
Then  the  withering  look  the  Church  fastened  upon  me, 
which  needed  no  interpreter  to  declare,  “You  are  your¬ 
self  a  demented  vagrant,  who  ought  to  be  under  surveil¬ 
lance  ‘at  home.’” 

I  hurried  away  with  crushed  spirit,  and  soliloquized,  Is 
then  the  old  flag,  the  blessed  stars  and  stripes,  which 
have  often  given  peace  to  my  aching  heart,  only  a  mis¬ 
nomer?  Does  it  signify  only  civil  oppression  and  religious 
bondage?  Is  the  cross  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  as  a 
national  ensign,  only  an  illusion  ?  Mothers  gave  their 
first-born,  wives  their  husbands,  maidens  nameless  treas¬ 
ures  for  its  defense.  Is  this  blessed  emblem  only  a  rack 
to  which  women  also  must  be  nailed? 

I  was  suffocated,  I  went  out  under  the  quiet  stars  and 
sought  Him  who  had  said,  “Take  heed  to  yourselves  that 
your  heart  be  not  deceived  and  ye  turn  aside  and  serve 
other  gods.”  “And  then  the  Lord’s  wrath  be  kindled 
against  you,  and  he  shut  up  the  heaven  that  there  be  no 
rain,  and  that  the  land  yield  not  her  fruit,  and  lest  ye 


i6 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


perish  quickly  from  off  the  good  land  which  the  Lord 
giveth  you.”  “The  idols  of  the  heathen  are  silver  and 
gold,  the  work  of  men’s  hands.”  “But  where  are  thy 
gods  that  thou  hast  made  thee  ?  Let  them  arise,  if  they 
can  save  thee  in  the  time  of  thy  trouble.” 

Kneeling  in  suppliance,  I  asked  to  be  taught  of  the 
Unerring.  If  the  idols  I  would  assist  to  crush  in  foreign 
lands  had  being  in  my  own,  and  we  were  idolaters,  I 
might  be  given  spirit-vision  to  discover  their  hiding  places. 

I  arose.  In  reverie  wandered.  As  one  becomes  con¬ 
scious  of  a  presence  when  his  own  atmosphere  is  invaded, 
yet  sees  nothing,  I  suddenly  halted,  sight  strained  to  sever¬ 
est  tension.  The  moon  suddenly  burst  its  swaddling- 
clothes,  clear  beams  fell  vertically,  I  saw,  and  shuddered, 
a  huge  idol!  There  was  no  mistaking  it;  a  brazen  image 
of  colossal  stature,  resting  on  a  base  of  solid  gold.  As  I 
drew  near,  it  seemed  instinct  with  life;  its  terrible  eyes 
shot  lightnings,  its  arms  were  distended  as  if  to  embrace 
a  worshiper.  Jewels  glistened  in  the  flickering  starlight 
from  its  bony  fingers;  its  feet,  though  delicately  molded, 
wore  the  hoofs  of  time;  a  deep,  cavernous  voice  broke  in 
upon  the  awful  silence,  and  I  heard  the  words,  “If  thou 
wilt  fall  down  and  worship  me  I  will  give  thee  all  the 
kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the  glory  of  them.” 

Transfixed  I  stood  amid  the  shadows.  A  venerable 
man  drew  near,  knelt  and  poured  incense — days,  months, 
years,  yea,  a  life-time,  to  full  measure.  He  received,  what? 
a  hundred  millions !  But  no  fragment  of  time  to  utter  a 
prayer  for  the  repose  of  his  soul ! 

I  saw  another.  His  form  was  bent,  but  not  with 
years;  his  step  was  hurried  and  there  was  a  strange  fire 
in  his  eye.  He  deposited  quickly  his  offering — conscience l 
The  idol  clutched  it,  a  murmur  of  delight  broke  from  his 
crimson  lips,  ran  along  his  massive  frame  till  it  vibrated 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


i7 


like  an  aspen,  as  he  gave  the  kneeling  victim  a  scroll. 
By  the  light  of  a  falling  star  I  read  one  word,  “Fame.” 

Again,  and,  lo,  a  great  multitude.  These  came  with 
agile  step,  stretched  their  full  palms  toward  the  shrine, 
and  each  tossed  a  soul!  A  strange,  new  fire  kindled  in 
the  eyes  of  the  idol,  as  he  threw  to  each  a  shining  man¬ 
tle,  tinseled  and  embroidered,  with  the  words  “Earthly 
Pleasure”  inwrought.  I  saw,  because  I  stood  in  the 
shadow,  they  in  the  rays,  what  they  heeded  not,  that  it 
was  moth-eaten  as  a  sieve. 

Again  a  motley  crowd  surge  toward  the  pedestal. 
Young  men  fresh  from  a  mother’s  knee,  the  halo  of  her 
prayers  still  enshrouding  them,  middle-aged  men  with 
brows  the  impersonation  of  thought,  men  venerable  with 
a  nation’s  trust,  kneel  together,  and  lay  at  the  monster’s 
feet  the  elective  franchise  of  a  Christian  nation.  My 
pulse  stood  still.  For  what  purpose  was  this  richest  liba¬ 
tion  of  liberty  poured  ?  My  blood  darted  anew  with 
anguish  as  I  saw  all  hands  extended  to  receive  an  equiv¬ 
alent.  Some  grasped  a  parchment,  with  the  single  word, 
“Position;”  others  clutched  a  silver  coin,  the  “almighty 
dollar.”  But  I  saw  each  moved  away  with  an  unsteady 
step,  as  though  a  leaden  plummet  were  suspended  about 
his  neck. 

I  might  not  follow  them,  for  another  eager  crowd 
pressed  to  the  front,  reckless  and  jubilant.  They  poured 
the  choicest  vintage  of  Bacchus.  The  trenches  over¬ 
flowed,  and  there  was  delirium  in  the  very  air.  The 
worshipers  themselves  partook  of  the  intoxication.  The 
leaders  moved  away  in  chariots  of  gold,  with  steeds  richly 
caparisoned,  and  shouted,  “Long  live  King  Gambrinus!” 
I  saw,  and,  lo,  their  chariot -wheels  drave  heavily,  for 
they  dragged  and  crushed  innocent  women  and  babes, 


2 


i8 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


who  sent  up  such  a  wail  of  anguish  as  terrified  the  steeds 
in  their  gilded  trappings,  and  they  dashed  suddenly  down 
that  broad,  flower-gemmed  avenue,  whose  terminus  is  the 
abysm  of  hell. 

Slowly  I  turned  again  toward  the  incense-altar.  A 
long  line  of  devotees  approached.  To  my  horror,  I  dis¬ 
covered  in  the  front  ranks  my  own  personnel.  The 
pageantry  drew  on.  The  countenance  of  some  wore  an 
air  of  self-assurance.  They  had  evidently  just  returned 
from  Vanity  Fair,  bearing  a  few  trinkets,  carefully  la¬ 
beled  “Sacrifice,”  which  they  laid  complacently  upon  the 
altar.  Others  wore  broad  phylacteries,  with  the  inscrip¬ 
tion,  “Holiness  to  the  Lord.”  Still  others  came,  laden 
with  heavy  bundles  of  parchment,  which,  being  unrolled, 
I  saw  were  formulas  of  prayer,  whose  cohesive  attraction 
had  been  overcome  by  much  use,  and  they  fell  at  the 
feet  of  the  idol  as  ashes.  At  sight  of  this,  the  Christian 
Church  at  his  feet,  this  inanimate  Baal,  as  if  in  the  intox¬ 
ication  of  conscious  sovereignty,  suddenly  raised  his  huge 
right  arm,  thrust  aloft  a  banner  inscribed  with  the  single 
word,  “  Victory ,”  and  shouted,  with  cavernous  intonat¬ 
ion :  “It  is  enough.  Depart  in  peace.” 

As  line  after  line  of  the  kneeling  devotees  arose,  I 
saw  each  carried  away  a  little  golden  seal.  Creeping 
close  to  the  altar,  my  own  treacherous  fingers  grasped 
one  of  them.  I  drew  back  into  the  light,  and  read  the 
mystic  word,  “  E-a-s-e — Ease.” 

My  senses  came;  my  nerves  shook.  Verily,  then,  / 
was  an  idolater.  These,  my  countrywomen,  my  kinsfolk 
in  the  flesh,  were  worshipers  at  one  common  shrine.  As 
by  intuition,  I  rushed  forward  and  sought  a  position 
where  the  fast- receding  rays  of  the  full  moon  fell  upon 
the  idol,  and  read,  what  before  had  been  concealed,  the 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


19 


name  of  this  great  god  of  the  Ephesians:  four  little  letters, 
a  monosyllable,  “  S-e-i-f — Self.” 

A  sense  of  dizziness  overpowered  me.  I  reeled. 
What  befell  me,  or  whence  the  crowd,  or  where  this 
brazen  image,  I  knew  not.  When  I  awoke  the  light  of 
a  new  day  was  bursting  in  the  horizon.  With  the  dark¬ 
ness  had  passed  away  the  dread  panorama  of  the  night. 
I  arose,  shook  from  myself  the  paralysis  of  the  hideous 
drama,  and  resolved  to  go  forth,  to  cry  out  against  this 
idol  of  the  night  and  obscurity. 

Lo,  my  hands  were  heavy;  and  I  perceived  the  golden 
seal  of  my  dreams  had  turned  to  stone — a  weight  too 
heavy.  By  tremendous  impulse,  as  though  death  were  in 
the  balance,  I  dashed  it  upon  the  rocks  by  the  wayside. 
It  shivered  into  fragments,  which  I  trod  into  the  yielding 
soil  out  of  sight  forever;  then  turned,  with  elastic  step 
and  bounding  spirit,  to  tread  again  the  arena  of  toil. 
For  though  verily  I  had  looked  upon  the  brazen  image,  to 
which  with  my  kinsmen  I  had  rendered  unconscious  hom¬ 
age,  I  had  now  seen  its  hideous  deformity,  and  learned 
the  u>or ship  was  voluntary. 

Therefore,  though  as  I  went  I  would  cry  aloud  against 
the  idolatry  of  my  own  people,  yet  would  I  plead  the 
more  earnestly  for  the  myriads  beyond  the  seas,  who  are 
idolaters  from  necessity,  because  they  have  no  choice  of 
other  shrines.  If  they  turn  away  from  the  idols  of 
wood  and  stone,  the  work  of  men’s  hands,  they  are 
without  a  shrine,  without  a  hope,  tossed  on  the  great 
sea  of  universal  sorrow,  without  the  anchorage  even 
of  a  false  faith,  drifting  into  the  great  unknown,  where 
rock  and  shoal  and  maelstrom  engulf  all  but  the  King’s 
fleet. 

For  this  cause,  therefore,  with  a  noble  army  of  Chris- 


20 


“  Heathen  at  Home.” 


tian  women,  my  sisters,  who,  having  flung  away  their 
own  golden  seals  into  the  vault  of  the  past,  are  coming 
from  the  shores  of  either  ocean  in  solid  phalanx,  a  com¬ 
bination  known  as  the  “Woman’s  Foreign  Missionary 
Society,”  I  come,  valiantly  to  labor,  so  long  as  this  right 
hand  holds  her  “cunning,”  for  the  overthrow  of  the  false 
gods  of  all  the  limitless  Orient. 

Judges,  jurors,  you  have  heard  the  Defense. 


Part  II. 


u  Seated)  at  Son^e.” 


Hrjjumcnt. 


❖ 


l^r'0)'\Y  chemical  analyses,  the  base  of  a  given  mix- 
tiire  is  precipitated,  the  foreign  elements  lib- 
crated.  A  skillful  analyst  of  moral  forces 
«  ff  may  effect  kindred  results  in  spiritual  science. 
IE;  Ourself  skilless,  our  only  hope  is  so  to  define  the 
f  crude  substances  which  enter  into  the  above  for- 
1  mula  that  the  unwary  may  beware  of  the  “poison.” 

In  our  examination  of  this  subject  some  stand¬ 
ard  authority  is  essential  to  an  intelligent  discussion 
\ y  of  terms.  We  have  chosen  Webster.  He  defines 
x  “Heathen:”  “One  who  worships  idols,  or  is  unac- 
X  quainted  with  the  true  God;  a  Gentile.  In  the 
Scriptures,  the  word  seems  to  comprehend  all  na¬ 
tions  except  the  Jews  or  Israelites,  as  they  were  all 
strangers  to  the  true  religion.”  The  term,  as  in  general 
use,  has  more  or  less  of  local  significance.  Among  the 
Mormons  all  non-Smithites,  of  whatever  nationality,  are 
termed  Gentiles,  all  such  being  “strangers  to  the  true 
religion.”  FTotnc, Webster  defines  as  “One’s  own  country, 
the  place  of  constant  residence.”  Foreign — “Not  of  the 
country  in  which  one  resides.”  Foreigner — “A  person 


21 


22 


Heathen  at  Home:  Argument. 


born  in  a  foreign  country;  or  without  the  jurisdiction  of 
which  one  speaks.” 

By  these  definitions  we  find  home  and  foreign  to  be 
merely  relative  terms,  whose  import  is  determined  by  the 
location  of  the  speaker.  In  India  and  China,  our  mis¬ 
sionaries,  by  the  natives  among  whom  they  labor,  are 
currently  denominated  “Foreign  Devils.”  God’s  resi¬ 
dence  is  ubiquity.  With  him,  therefore,  there  is  no 
change  of  relation. 

Heathen — “One  who  worships  idols.”  Idol,  in  its 
literal  sense,  signifies  :  i.  A  representation  or  figure  (the 
work  of  men’s  hands).  2.  Men,  animals,  the  heavenly 
bodies,  or  natural  elements,  consecrated  as  objects  of 
worship. 

“Home,”  in  this  connection,  must  have  its  boundary 
set  by  the  water  lines  which  girdle  the  United  States. 

No  one  familiar  with  the  facts  will,  we  think,  attempt 
to  substantiate  the  claim  of  idol  worship,  in  its  literal 
sense,  within  this  limit.'  But  since  we  have  found  the 
creed  of  the  Church  quite  as  firm  upon  the  “heathen  at 
home”  as  that  of  non-communicants,  we  will  examine  the 
subject  in  its  varied  phases.  The  argument  of  substitu¬ 
tion,  whereby  professing  Christians  set  up  for  themselves 
a  shrine  and  offer  incense  upon  other  altar  than  that 
of  the  living  God,  we  have  discussed  in  Part  I. 

The  second  clause  of  the  definition,  “strangers  to  the 
true  religion,”  to  a  casual  thinker,  may  appear  forceful, 
as  applied  to  the  multitudes  crowding  the  slums  of  our 
great  cities,  wandering  as  vagrants  or  perishing  in  prisons. 
In  the  higher  social  strata,  to  the  people  whose  mental 
and  moral  worth  are  elements  of  strength  in  the  social  or 
commercial  fabric,  who  nevertheless  have  not  acknowl¬ 
edged  Christ  as  their  personal  Savior.  We  question 
if  these  people  would  relish  the  classification  “  heathen,” 


Heathen  at  Home:  Argument. 


23 


either  as  worshipers  of  idols  or  strangers  to  the  true  relig¬ 
ion.  For  the  sake  of  the  argument  we  place  them  here, 
and  examine  the  latter  clause  of  the  charge. 

“True  religion.”  The  divine  platform  of  this  faith  is, 
“Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart, 
and  with  all  thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy  mind,  and  with  all 
thy  strength.”  Its  corollary,  “Do  unto  others  as  ye 
would  that  they  should  do  unto  you.” 

Enter  with  me,  caviler,  the  denominational  class¬ 
rooms  of  the  Christian  Church.  Seat  yourself  dispassion¬ 
ately,  note-book  in  hand.  Take  carefully  the  testimony 
of  those  who  claim  to  have  reached  this  sublime  spir¬ 
itual  altitude;  go  abroad  with  me  into  business  circles 
and  submit  your  notes;  see  if  your  gathered  testimonies 
are  not  arraigned;  observe  how  many  crucibles  are  ad¬ 
justed  for  your  mixture;  allow  the  test,  and  see  how  little 
“gold”  will  be  eliminated  after  the  standard,  “By  their 
ftnits  ye  shall  know  them.”  Decide  for  yourself  if  the 
“world”  are  “strangers”  to  the  “true  religion.”  Mark 
you  how  its  very  simplest  formulas  are  as  familiar  to  the 
man  of  “stocks”  or  of  letters  as  the  blanks  of  his  bank 
account,  or  the  theorems  of  his  special  science.  Whence 
comes  this  knowledge  ? 

Again  follow  me :  We  have  passed  the  massive  gate¬ 
way — the  long  corridor,  the  iron  bars.  We  stand  alone 
with  the  prisoner;  his  eyes  meet  yours  furtively,  as 
though  he  read,  “Holier  than  I.”  Question  him  con¬ 
cerning  his  crime.  He  answers  stolidly ;  parries  every 
effort  to  probe  his  conscience.  Speak  to  him  of  the  great 
future,  the  final  tribunal.  He  sits  in  grim  silence  or 
answers  nervously.  Speak  to  him  of  his  boyhood — a 
ray  from  the  sun  setting  bursts  up  the  horizon  of  his 
thought,  blazes  along  the  night  of  years.  By  its  light  he 
is  traveling  swiftly  back.  Ah  !  me,  he  is  a  child  again ; 


24 


Heathen  at  Home:  Argument. 


innocence  lives.  Break  in  upon  his  dreams  with  the 
whispered  word,  “mother.”  The  child  bursts  into  tears; 
the  criminal  bows  his  head  upon  his  crimson  hands  and 
groans  audibly.  The  great  deep  of  his  soul  surges  to  and 
fro.  Speak  softly  now  to  him  of  our  “Father  who  art  in 
heaven.”  Memory  dashes  past  the  walls  of  his  narrow 
cell.  He  kneels  again  in  an  upper  chamber  at  his 
mother’s  knee,  and  repeats  the  unforgotten  prayer,  “Now 
I  lay  me  down  to  sleep.”  Ha!  his  lips  move.  Drop 
silently  beside  him,  caviler;  blend  your  petition  with 
his;  he  knows  the  way  to  the  throne.  Come  away,  leave 
him  with  his  God,  he  is  no  “stranger”  to  the  “true 
religion.” 

Out  again  into  the  pure  air;  there’s  inspiration  in  it. 
“Surely  this  is  God’s  country.”  Not  so  hasty  your 
decision,  my  friend.  We  will  pass  these  stately  mansions, 
massive  churches,  educational  institutions,  asylums  of  be¬ 
nevolence,  whose  many  turrets  are  so  many  fingers  index¬ 
ing  the  royal  road  of  Christian  civilization.  Enter  this 
narrow  way,  no  trace  of  Christ  is  here,  for  the  Scriptural 
declaration  is  inverted,  “and  many  there  be  who  go  in 
thereat.”  But  let  us  follow.  The  sunlight  recedes;  these 
tumbling  walls  frown  upon  us.  The  very  waifs  at  our 
feet  hurl  blasphemies.  The  air  is  murky  with  the  vapors 
of  sin — seething  in  caldrons  beneath  our  feet.  Cling 
close  to  me,  ascend  this  broken  staircase.  There,  breathe. 
The  landing  will  support  you,  it  is  trod  by  heavier  feet. 
Venture  again  up  another,  darker  and  narrower.  Does 
your  courage  fail  ?  Weaker  hands  have  felt  along  this 
passage-way.  There,  we  have  touched  the  latch. 

Is  it  the  soughing  of  the  wind?  the  lone  sentinel  in  this 
place  of  woe?  Verily  it  is  a  voice,  “Come;”  not  as  of 
the  living,  yet  the  dead  speak  not.  Crouch  low  as  we 
enter,  lest  the  walls  strike  at  you;  move  toward  the  pallet. 


Heathen  at  Home  :  Argument. 


25 


“Mary,  are  you  still  here?” 

“Oh,  yes;  is  it  you  come  again?  I  thought  it  was 
the  angel.  Last  night  he  came.  My  babe  had  moaned  so 
long  for  the  nourishment  which  was  not, — I  cried,  ‘Jesus, 
send  food.’  My  vision  came — light,  with  a  presence.  He 
took  my  babe.  He  sang  to  me.  Was  it  the  harpsichord 
of  heaven,  think  you?  He  sang:  ‘They  shall  hunger  no 
more,  neither  thirst  any  more;  for  the  Lamb  which  was 
in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed  them.’  My  babe  is 
quiet  now,  fed  by  the  angel.” 

Turn  back  the  sheet,  O  caviller.  Look  once  upon 
the  still  face.  Leave  it  with  the  angel.  The  angry  touch 
of  a  drunken  father  can  not  jostle  it  from  the  new  embrace. 
’T  is  safe.  But,  “Mary,  Mary,  is  the  way  clear?” 

“Clear?  Ah,  sir,  it  is  a  shining  track.  The  chariots 
and  the  horsemen  are  many;  and  ‘  I  saw  a  new  Jerusalem 
coming  down  from  God  out  of  heaven  as  a  bride  adorned 
for  her  husband,  and  I  heard  a  great  voice  out  of  heaven, 
saying,  And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their 
eyes;  and  there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow, 
nor  crying,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain;  for  the 
former  things  are  passed  away.’  Tell  him,  when  the 
liquor  is  off,  there  is  forgiveness  with  Jesus.  I  will  wait 
for  him  at  the  beautiful  gate.” 

My  friend,  the  sun  is  low;  we  may  not  travel  farther. 
But  think  you  crumbling  walls  can  shut  out  the  true 
religion?  The  very  air  which  steals  through  broken 
panes  to  cool  the  fever-scorched  cheek  bears  on  its  bosom 
the  moan  of  Calvary.  The  soul  of  the  sufferer  catches 
the  cadence,  and  believes  “He  died  for  me.”  Go  where 
we  will,  read  the  heart’s  secret  of  whomsoever  we  may, 
in  dungeon,  arena,  plain,  or  wilderness,  ’t  is  a  name 
written  on  the  soul’s  inner  tablet, — “  Rabboni.”  Heap 

3 


26 


Heathen  at  Home:  Argument. 


gold  never  so  high  above  it,  fancy  it  buried  from  sight 
forever.  Touch  the  pile,  the  gold  crumbles,  the  inscrip¬ 
tion  remains.  Poverty  and  tears  only  heighten  its  outline. 

Oh,  exalted  privilege  to  be  an  American  citizen  1  For 
as  well  might  one  strive  to  chain  the  lone  sunbeam  which 
strays  in  pity  across  Pain’s  pillow  as  bind  the  message 
which  floats  to  us  from  the  Judean  hills.  The  echo  of  a 
far-away  footstep,  of  One  who  himself  trod  alone  the 
vales  of  sorrow,  may  be  heard  to-day  at  couch  or  stone- 
bed  of  sufferer  or  criminal  who  bids  it.  Oh,  beautiful 
home-land!  no  adventurer  can  wander  so  far,  or  climb 
so  high  the  mountain  summits,  but  in  the  canon’s  awful 
silence  he  may  walk  with  the  Lord  in  the  cool  of  the 
day.  Within  thy  sheltering  fold  no  mother  need  watch 
alone  her  dying  child.  The  fire  may  burn  low  in  the 
grate;  the  hand  which  was  altar-pledged  may  have  slipped 
from  hers  to  link  itself  to  crime;  the  light  of  the  lamp 
refuse  longer  to  show  the  fever  flash  or  the  lips’  pallor; 
no  physician  may  be  near, — but,  ah  1  amid  the  darkness, 
the  chill,  the  anguish,  she  talks  with  the  Great  Healer. 
Lo,  at  the  gray  dawn  of  morning  the  fever  has  crept 
away;  an  invisible  ministry  has  been  hers. 

In  all  thy  border-lands,  O  exalted  America,  if  one  die 
of  cold  or  hunger  upon  the  Plains,  in  the  very  fury  of 
the  storm  which  congeals  him  will  he  hear  a  whisper  of 
the  land  beyond 

“The  frost-chain  and  the  fever.” 

From  the  rifted  clouds  will  drop  a  hand  to  lift  him  to  the 
Summer-house  of  heaven. 

No  “Schiller”  pushing  from  thy  shores  can  bear  her 
living  cargo  so  far  out  to  sea,  or  sink  them  so  deep,  but 
beneath  the  waves  their  stiffening  fingers  may  find  a  cross 
which  shall  become  to  them  a  barge,  and  on  it  they  may 


Heathen  at  Home:  Argument.  27 

float  outward  and  onward,  and  into  the  celestial  harbor. 
Oh,  blessed  land  of  the  leal !  To  be  a  citizen  within 
thy  borders  is  greater  than  a  king! 

It  may  be  claimed  that  missionary  work  distinctively 
“foreign”  is  urgently  demanded  among  the  representa¬ 
tives  of  other  nations,  who  crowd  our  western  coast  and 
south-western  territories.  Our  answer  is,  These  fields  are 
being  occupied,  through  the  various  enterprises  of  the 
Church,  as  rapidly  as  the  benevolence  of  the  Church  will 
warrant.  The  fact  still  remains,  if  one  perish  upon 
American  soil  or  in  American  waters  without  Christ,  it  is 
because  he  will.  Nor  is  this  universal  religious  atmos¬ 
phere  purely  American.  It  is  common  to  all  lands 
dominantly  Christian. 

A  striking  confirmation  of  our  position  is  furnished  in 
the  following  extract  from  a  speech  given  by  that  prince 
of  orators,  John  B.  Gough,  at  the  Chautauqua  Assembly. 
The  speech  was  reported  for  the  November  number 
of  the  Lucknow  (India)  Witness ,  a  copy  of  which,  for¬ 
warded  to  the  writer  by  brother  F.  M.  Wheeler,  of  the 
India  Conference,  was  received  in  January  (the  land  of 
our  labors  can  not  be  so  very  far  from  home) : 

“In  the  borough  of  Dundee,  in  Scotland,  the  Right 
Honorable  Lord  Kinnaird  and  his  lady,  who  were  real 
philanthropists,  asked  me  if  I  would  address  an  audience 
of  outcasts,  and  I  said,  ‘  If  you  can  get  me  such  an 
audience  I  will  speak  to  them.’  They  said:  ‘Oh,  we 
will  get  you  such  an  audience.  The  town  missionaries 
will  bring  in  such  an  audience  if  you  will  give  us  a 
night.’  We  named  Saturday  night.  On  that  Saturday 
night  I  faced  an  audience  of  eight  hundred  men  and 
women.  You  never  saw  an  audience  of  outcasts,  in  rags 
and  filth,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  last  lingering  trace  of 


28 


Heathen  at  Home:  Argument. 


human  beauty  had  been  dashed  out  by  the  hoof  of  de¬ 
bauchery;  the  image  of  God  wiped  out,  with  the  die  of 
Satan  stamped  in  its  place.  It  is  an  awful  sight  to  see 
eight  hundred  men  and  women  in  such  a  degraded  con¬ 
dition,  mentally  and  physically.  When  we  came  in,  the 
Rev.  Alexander  Hanna,  who  came  in  with  George  Ruff, 
the  provost  of  the  borough,  said  to  me,  ‘You  have  fire  in 
the  house  to-night. *  Said  I,  ‘What  do  you  mean?’  Said 
he,  ‘  Do  you  see  that  tall  woman  seated  by  the  platform?’ 
I  said,  ‘Yes.’  Said  he:  ‘Her  name  is  “Hell-fire.”  She 
is  known  by  no  other  name  in  the  vicinity  of  her  resi¬ 
dence.  She  is  the  most  abandoned  woman  in  the  city 
of  Dundee.  Fifty-six  times  she  has  been  arrested,  and 
there  is  no  policeman  on  the  force  can  take  her.  She  is 
a  strong,  muscular  woman,  and  hits  right  and  left;  and 
sometimes  it  will  take  three  men  to  drag  her  before  me, 
with  the  blood  streaming  down  her  face;  and  the  power 
of  her  tongue  in  blasphemy  is  so  awful  that  men  who  can 
stand  almost  any  amount  of  it  will  run  away.  Now,  if 
she  is  in  humor,  you  will  see  such  a  row  to-night  as  you 
never  saw  before  in  your  life.  If  she  is  come  ripe  for 
mischief,  you  will  see  something  of  a  row.’  I  expected  a 
row,  and  I  did  not  like  it;  and  as  I  saw  the  countenances 
of  these  men  and  women  I  expected  trouble.  So  I  began 
to  talk  to  them  easily  and  pleasantly;  told  them  what  I 
believed  God  meant  they  should  be,  what  I  believed  they 
were,  what  I  believed  they  might  be.  As  I  went  on 
talking,  not  as  to  brutes  nor  things  nor  beasts,  I  saw  a 
naked  arm  and  hand  raise,  and  somebody  cried  out,  ‘  O 
my  God,  man,  that  is  all  true!’  The  woman  got  on  her 
feet;  she  waved  her  naked  arm  and  hand  to  the  audience, 
and  she  said  it  was  all  true — every  word  of  it  was  true. 
When  I  sat  down  she  got  on  the  platform.  I  did  not 
know  but  she  was  going  to  tackle  me.  I  did  not  like 


Heathen  at  Home:  Argument.  29 

the  looks  of  the  woman.  I  do  not  like  to  come  in  con¬ 
tact  with  such  strong-minded  women,  I  assure  you,  and 
she  looked  at  me  with  her  hands  on  her  hips.  ‘Well, 
take  a  good  look  at  me,  man,  I  am  a  bit  of  a  beauty, 
arn’t  I?’  And  as  she  stepped  forward,  I  stepped  back. 
I  did  not  like  it.  She  said,  ‘Take  a  good  look  at  me,’ 
and  I  do  not  know  as  I  ever  came  face  to  face  with  a 
more  brazen-faced  woman  in  my  life.  Presently  she  made 
one  swift  step,  and  came  so  near  me  that  her  breath 
was  all  in  my  face,  hot,  reeking  with  strong  drink.  Said 
she  :  ‘Would  you  give  a  body  like  me  the  pledge?’  ‘Yes, 
ma’am.’  One  of  these  very, prudent  men  came  up  to  me 
and  said:  ‘Don’t;  no,  no,  no,  don’t  give  her  the  pledge.’ 
‘Why?’  ‘She  won’t  keep  it.’  ‘How  do  you  know?’ 
‘She  can’t  keep  it.’  ‘How  do  you  know?’  ‘Why,  she 
is  fooling  you;  she  will  be  drunk  before  she  goes  to  bed.’ 
I  said,  ‘  Madam,  here  is  a  gentleman  who  says  if  you 
sign  that  pledge  you  can  not  keep  it.’  ‘I  can’t  keep  it! 
show  me  the  man!’  [Laughter.]  ‘Ah,  but,’  said  I, 
‘Madam,  can  you  keep  it?’  ‘Can  I  keep  it?  If  I  will, 
I  can.’  ‘Say  you  will,  then.’  ‘I  will.’  ‘Give  me  your 
hand.’  She  put  her  burning  hand  in  mine.  ‘Sign  the 
pledge.’  She  signed  it.  It  looked  like  dipping  a  fly  in  the 
ink  and  setting  it  to  run  across  the  paper.  Said  I,  ‘Give 
me  your  hand  again;  you  will  keep  it?”  ‘  I  will,’  she  said. 
‘I  will  come  and  see  you  before  I  go  back  to  America.’ 
‘Come  and  see  me  when  you  will,  I  will  keep  it.’” 

“Some  years  after,  in  Dundee,  before  I  went  to 
America,  I  saw  the  woman,  and  I  was  introduced  to  her 
as  Mrs.  Archer,  no  longer  ‘  Hell-fire.’  I  went  to  her  house. 
Part  of  what  she  told  me  was  this,  and  I  wish  I  could 
tell  you  what  she  told  me.  ‘Ah,  Mr.  Gough,  I  am  a 
poor,  ignorant  body ;  what  little  I  have  known  has  been 
knocked  out  of  me  by  the  staves  of  the  policemen,  and 


. 


j 


3° 


Heathen  at  Home:  Argument. 


they  beat  me  about  the  head  and  have  knocked  pretty 
much  all  the  sense  out  of  me.  But  sometimes  I  have  a 
dream,  and  I  dream  I  am  drunk,  and  I  dream  that  the 
policemen  have  got  me  again,  and  I  dream  I  am  fighting, 
and  then  I  get  out  of  my  bed,  sir,  and  I  go  down  on  my 
knees,  and  I  never  go  back  to  my  bed  again  until  the  day¬ 
light  comes,  and  I  keep  saying,  ‘God  keep  me.  I  can’t 
get  drunk  any  more.’  Her  daughter  said  to  me,  ‘I  have 
seen  my  mother  at  the  dead  of  night,  in  the  bitter  Winter 
weather,  on  the  bare  floor  crying,  ‘God  keep  me,’  and  I 
said,  ‘Mother,  come  to  your  bed;”  and  she  said,  ‘No,  I 
have  had  a  dream,  and  I  can’t  get  drunk  any  more.’ 
That  woman  is  seen  at  all  times,  in  all  kinds  of  weather, 
going  to  the  house  of  God.  George  Ruff,  the  provost  of 
the  borough,  sent  to  me  a  photograph  in  a  letter,  in 
which  he  said  she  had  kept  the  pledge  for  eighteen  years. 
[Applause.]  She  has  become  a  godly  woman,  and  all  her 
spare  time  is  expended  in  rescuing  abandoned  women. 
She  has  gone  down  to  the  depths  to  bring  them  up.  She 
has  taken  young  girls  out  of  the  streets,  kept  them  in 
her  own  little  room  for  a  week  to  save  them  from  tempta¬ 
tion.  Now,  my  friends,  total  abstinence  could  not  make 
that  woman  a  Christian;  total  abstinence  removed  the 
hinderance  to  her  hearing  the  truth,  which  must  be  heard 
to  be  believed,  and  must  be  believed  to  affect  the  life. 
When  Jesus  went  to  the  tomb  of  Lazarus  there  was  a 
stone  by  the  mouth  of  the  tomb.  He  could  have,  removed 
it  if  he  saw  fit,  but  he  used  human  agency.  They  took 
away  the  stone.  They  rolled  it  away.  Jesus  spoke,  and 
Lazarus  came  forth.’* 

These  are  stirring  facts,  but  their  name  is  legion. 

We  turn  to  the  consideration  of  the  implied  charge 
in  the  statement,  “Heathen  enough  at  home,”  to-wit: 
That  admitting  the  general  prevalence  of  religious  truth, 


Heathen  at  Home:  Argument. 


3X 

the  agencies  employed  to  lead  men  to  accept  the  truth 
should  be  multiplied,  and,  until  this  end  is  accomplished, 
we  should  export  neither  sympathy  nor  money. 

This  argument  can  have  validity  only  with  the  super¬ 
ficial  thinker;  a  careful  examination  of  the  records  of 
religious  benevolence  throughout  this  land  will  satisfy  a 
receptive  mind.  Figures  are  more  convincing  than  fan¬ 
cies.  Without  attempting  to  collate  general  statistics  we 
will  give  the  “home”  facts: 

The  site  of  the  present  city  of  Lincoln,  Nebraska, 
twelve  years  ago  was  a  treeless,  trackless  plain.  With  a 
population  of  seven  thousand  we  now  have  fourteen  evan¬ 
gelical  Church  organizations,  as  many  Sabbath-schools 
and  weekly  prayer-meetings,  supplemented  every  year  by 
weeks  or  months  of  special  Church  service  to  persuade 
men  to  accept  salvation. 

In  the  interests  of  education  we  have  a  thorough 
public-school  system  and  a  State  University  of  high  grade. 

For  city  missionary  work,  the  Young  People’s  Chris¬ 
tian  Association;  the  Ladies’  and  Pastors’  Christian  Union 
in  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  and  a  similar  society, 
with  diverse  titles,  in  each  of  the  city  churches. 

Added  to  these :  The  City  Aid  Society,  one  Odd-fel¬ 
low,  one  Knights  of  Pythias,  and  three  Masonic  orders, 
whose  care  for  the  stranger  and  the  dying  is  noteworthy. 

For  the  rescue  of  lost  women,  “The  Female  Guardian 
Society.” 

The  temperance  work  has  representation  in  the  follow¬ 
ing  societies,  organized  to  teach  civilized  (?)  men  it  is 
barbarous  to  dig  their  own  graves  with  their  own  hands, 
and  that  aforetime:  One  Good  Templar  Organization, 
one  Sons  of  Temperance,  two  Juvenile  Temperance  Or¬ 
ganizations,  one  Temple  of  Honor,  one  Red  ribbon  Club, 
one  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union. 


32 


Heathen  at  Home  :  Argument. 


For  the  demented  and  the  criminal  our  State  Lunatic 
Asylum  and  Penitentiary. 

For  exclusive  foreign  missionary  work  we  have  one 
auxiliary. 

With  the  above  corps  of  workers  we  have  nearly  or 
quite  a  personal  attendant  upon  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  who  needs  physical  or  spiritual  counsel.  To  mul¬ 
tiply  agencies  would  be  simply  to  increase  the  machinery 
without  adding  motive  power. 

We  are  upon  the  plains.  Since  the  formative  periods 
of  society  are  least  fortunate  for  Christian  enterprise,  our 
summarizing  does  not  indicate  the  maturity  of  effort 
common  to  older  cities.  The  fact  is  easily  established, 
that  as  we  approach  the  metropolis,  the  ratio  of  agencies 
or  workers  is  as  the  increase  of  population.  Before 
such  philosophy  of  fact,  O  caviler,  be  silent.  Verily,  if 
this  nation  perish  without  Christ,  well  may  the  Judge  say 
of  her  at  the  last  assize,  “  O  Jerusalem,  Jerusalem, 
which  killest  the  prophets,  and  stonest  them  that  are  sent 
unto  thee;  how  often  would  I  have  gathered  thy  children 
together,  as  a  hen  doth  gather  her  brood  under  her 
wings,  and  ye  would  not.  Behold  your  house  is  left  unto 
you  desolate.” 


k 


Part  III. 


ftcatl|ci]  adi'o^  tl\e 


"2U  in  tontcr  fact  anjofocrtllj  to  inti,  so  tfje  ijtnrt  of  man  to  man.” 


♦ 


S  we  enter  upon  this  chapter,  dear  reader, 
suffer  us  to  solicit  your  soul  thought,  divested 
of  the  prejudice  into  which  you  may  have 


CT  been  unconsciously  snared.  We  have  been  to  the 
M.  dear  Father  about  it.  We  have  asked  that  the 
,1  M  breath  of  the  Spirit  hallow  these  pages,  that  the 

"  trembling,  skilless  hand  which  traces  these  lines 

o  may  be  moved  by  the  impulse  of  that  Great 

O  Heart  which  gave  forth  “water  and  blood”  for 

the  world's  healing.  We  have  asked  for  you,  O 

reader,  that  the  blindness  which  comes  from  the 
very  glare  of  otir  sunny  lives  might  be  turned  lo 
sight  in  the  mellow  twilight  which  steals  upon  us 
when  Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by.  If  you  have  heard 
his  footstep,  if  his  unseen  touch  hath  healed  the  hurt  of 
your  own  heart,  in  memory  thereof,  listen  well  if  in  the 
tale  which  follows  you  hear  not  the  undertone  of  the 
Spirit,  “Do  this  in  remembrance  of  me.” 


34 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


/ 

To  give  even  the  briefest  synopsis  of  the  burning 
terror  of  the  word  “Heathen,”  in  its  unlimited  foreign 
sense,  is  beyond  the  scope  of  these  pages.  Its  analysis 
has  filled  many  volumes,  and  the  half  has  not  been  told. 
A  judicious  selection  from  known  authors  will  serve  only 
to  give  the  faintest  outline  of  the  dark  colors  which 
master  hands  have  painted.  But  we  trust  hereby  to 
stimulate  such  as  have  been  too  busy  with  home  scenes 
to  examine  this  foreign  canvas,  to  look  at  least  upon  the 
cross-pinioned  Sufferer  in  the  foreground,  whose  reproach¬ 
ful  eyes,  heavy  with  the  thorn-crown’s  weight,  say  unto  us, 
“  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these , 
ye  did  it  not  unto  me.” 

Let  us  return  to  the  general  definition  of  the  word 
“Heathen,”  “one  who  worships  idols,”  etc. 

All  history  establishes  the  fact  that  idol  worship,  in  its 
literal  sense,  in  one  or  more  of  its  multiform  phases,  is 
universal  throughout  the  Orient.  The  homes  of  the 
people  are  crowded  with  miniature  images  of  the  larger 
deities  of  the  temples. 

Confucianism,  the  classic  faith  of  the  Chinese,  does 
not  strictly  involve  idol  worship.  It  is  rather  a  code  of 
morals,  limiting  its  chief  concern  to  time.  Its  cardinal 
tenet  is  the  worship  of  Confucius, — as  a  sequence,  ances¬ 
tral  worship.  Later,  the  system  deteriorated  until  the 
earth,  its  elements,  the  solar  system,  and  other  objects, 
received  the  adoration  of  even  his  literary  followers. 
Tauism  and  Buddhism  have  “multiplied  the  gods  of 
China  until  they  have  run  up  to  thirty  thousand.”  The 
“god-makers  advertise  their  wares  as  the  potters  do  >heir 
pitchers.” 

Mohammedanism,  originally  claiming  to  be  the  “pro¬ 
test  of  the  prophet  against  idolatry,”  with  the  Koran  as 
a  supplement  to  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  is  a  virtual  substi- 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


35 


tution  of  Mohammed  as  the  Savior  of  men.  Its  observ¬ 
ance  by  one  hundred  and  eighty  millions  of  people  is  a 
round  of  penances  and  prayers  whereby  the  devotee 
works  out  his  own  salvation. 

Brahminism  and  Buddhism,  the  great  idol  faiths  of 
India,  have  respectively  three  hundred  and  one  hundred 
and  fifty  millions  of  adherents.  The  objects  of  worship 
in  the  two  systems  are  so  varied  the  gods  of  the  country 
are  more  numerous  than  the  men.  One  can  not  travel  a 
public  thoroughfare  but  he  is  constantly  shocked  with 
odious  objects  of  worship. 

“The  deities  of  Hindooism,”  said  Bishop  Thomson, 
“are  worshiped  in  shapes  in  which  they  are  supposed  to 
have  become  incarnate.  The  popular  theology  is  founded 
upon  the  Code  of  Menu  and  the  Puranas.  The  latter, 
eighteen  in  number,  are  a  collection  of  legends  concern¬ 
ing  the  gods,  who  marry,  quarrel,  sin,  suffer,  and  are 
thirty  millions  strong.” 

The  permanence  of  idol  worship  in  all  its  horrid 
features  is  secured  by  the  priesthood.  They  are  the  un¬ 
faltering  conservators  and  executors  of  all  the  unnatural 
and  legendary  laws  of  their  sacred  writings.  The  rite  of 
suttee  is  authorized  by  the  Puranas,  which  say,  “She  is 
alone  loyal  and  pure  who  burns  herself  with  her  hus¬ 
band’s  corpse.”  Its  element  of  perpetuity  resides  in  the 
Brahmin  priesthood,  who  officiate  at  the  appalling  cere¬ 
mony,  and  are  the  recipients  of  the  fortune  and  jewels 
of  the  immolated  widow. 

Infanticide  gathers  its  prestige  from  the  “infernal 
association  ”  known  as  Thuggism.  The  goddess  Kalee, 
whose  “appetite  for  blood  is  delighted  for  a  thousand 
years  by  a  human  sacrifice,”  is  the  patroness  of  the 
Thugs.  “So  popular  is  the  worship  of  Kalee,”  says  Dr. 
Butler,  “that  even  the  English  Government  can  not  keep 


3^ 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


the  public  offices  open  during  the  term  of  ‘  Durga-Poojah,’ 
holidays  from  the  first  to  the  thirteenth  of  October,  for 
all  Calcutta  then  runs  mad  upon  this  idolatry.  I  have 
seen  her  image,  larger  than  the  human  form,  painted 
blue,  with  her  tongue  represented  as  dripping  with  gore 
upon  her  chin,  her  bosom  covered  with  a  necklace  of 
human  skulls,  and  her  many  arms  each  bearing  a  mur¬ 
derous  weapon,  carried  in  proud  procession  through  the 
streets  of  Calcutta  during  these  holidays,  accompanied  by 
bands  of  music  and  tens  of  thousands  of  frantic  followers.” 
“These  professional  murderers  (Thugs),  when  their  victim 
is  in  the  agonies  of  strangulation  beneath  their  knees  on 
the  ground,  are  engaging  in  acts  of  prayer,  offering  to 
Ivalee  the  life  that  is  passing  away.  And  to  this  abomi¬ 
nation,  thus  said  to  feed  on  the  human  soul,  have  the 
mothers  of  India  for  ages  immolated  their  daughters.” 

The  fakirs,  another  class  of  Hindoo  priests,  instituted 
and  keep  up  the  great  annual  Melas  of  India,  at  which 
they  enact  barbarities  the  most  loathsome  and  horrible. 
Bishop  Kingsley  described  one  of  these  Melas  which  he 
attended,  where  were  present  eight  hundred  thousand 
people,  and  thirty-nine  thousand  of  these  priests.  Here 
the  priests  “made  their  annual  collections  and  performed 
their  feats.”  “The  more  outlandish  they  behave,  the 
more  unlike  other  human  beings  they  can  act  or  look, 
the  greater  is  their  power  over  the  masses.  .  .  .  All 

these  miserable  creatures,  as  far  as  I  saw  them,  went 
naked,  with  the  single  exception  of  the  rag  alluded  to, 
which  they  laid  aside  on  extraordinary  occasions.  Their 
bodies  were  daubed  all  over  with  mud  of  different  colors; 
some  yellow,  some  a  whitish  clay,  some  blue,  or  whatever 
shade  would  seem  to  give  them  the  most  filthy  and  hid¬ 
eous  appearance.  Their  hair,  which  they  never  comb, 
and  which  is  full  of  vermin,  they  stick  together  with  dis- 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


37 


gusting  compounds,  which  give  it  a  wholly  unnatural 
color,  as  well  as  a  most  loathsome  aspect.  They  eat,  as 
a  proof  of  extraordinary  sanctity,  the  most  disgusting  ma¬ 
terials  it  is  possible  to  conceive,  but  not  decent  to  relate. 
They  lie  about  naked  and  look  for  hours  together  at  the 
sun.”  After  describing  various  modes  of  self-torture  the 
writer  adds:  “When  these  wretched  devotees  have  per¬ 
formed  all  that  I  have  described,  and  yet  worse  things 
that  I  dare  not  name,  the  deluded  Hindoos  will  then  do 
any  thing  they  tell  them,  esteeming  it  an  infinite  privilege 
to  drink  the  water  in  which  they  have  washed  their 
filthy  feet  ” 

These  loathsome  vagabonds  are  the  only  men,  aside 
from  the  husband,  brother,  or  father,  who  have  access  to 
the  homes  of  India.  Their  prerogative  is  to  capture  inno¬ 
cence  under  the  guise  of  sanctity.  One’s  better  nature 
revolts  at  thought  of  giving  to  the  general  reader  all  the 
terrible  import  of  the  Eastern  word,  “heathen.” 

We  clip  from  the  Central  Advocate,  just  at  hand,  the 
following  item  from  the  pen  of  B.  H.  Badley,  of  our 
India  mission,  which  indicates  some  of  the  softer  features 
of  idol  worship: 

“A  famine  relief  officer  in  South  India  has  thought  fit 
to  favor  the  public  with  the  following  pen-sketch  : 

“‘On  the  edge  of  a  lake  stood  a  stone  temple,  the 
relic  of  a  bygone  superstition  with  its  shafts  and  columns 
scriptured  with  gods  and  goddesses,  and  here  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps  lay  three  ghastly  human  shapes — a  man, 
woman,  and  child  stone  dead,  with  their  shriveled  limbs, 
sunken  eyes,  and  protruding  ribs  telling  of  the  sufferings 
they  had  undergone,  before  death  had  given  them  a 
happy  release  from  pain.  Here  they  had  come,  proba¬ 
bly  from  a  distance,  to  beg  for  aid  from  their  gods  when 
all  earthly  help  had  failed  them — sublime,  but  unavailing 


3^ 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


faith — glorious,  but  childishly  simple  belief!  And  the 
rigid  hand  of  the  man  still  clutched  a  paper  in  which  was 
wrapped  some  red  lead  with  which  he  had  probably 
intended  to  touch  up  his  deity  as  a  propitiatory  prelude 
to  his  prayers.  What  a  ghastly  mockery  of  religion  it 
seemed !  There  was  the  hideous  image  to  which  the 
sculptor  had  given  a  stony  stare,  and  a  sickly  grin  daubed 
over  with  red,  and  there  at  its  feet  three  dusky  human 
corpses,  three  grinning  skulls,  a  whole  family  now  a  fes¬ 
tering  mass  of  putrefaction,  already  the  prey  of  the  earth¬ 
worm,  the  vulture,  and  all  Death’s  ghastly  crew.’ 

“To  the  above  picture  we  would  add  a  series  of  pic¬ 
tures  representing  the  man  and  woman  as  year  by  year 
rendering  thanks  to  this  hideous  idol  for  the  bounties  of 
providence,  and  for  preservation  from  innumerable  dan¬ 
gers  and  evils,  during  all  the  days  of  their  lives;  ascrib¬ 
ing  the  honor  of  all  to  the  wretched  caricature  of  deity 
represented  by  the  idol;  and  sedulously  teaching  their 
little  one  to  worship  it. — Bombay  Guardian. 

“To  us  the  very  saddest  thought  in  connection  with 
this  great  India  famine  (now,  thank  God,  so  nearly  at  an 
end)  is  that  the  thousands  who  are  daily  perishing  from 
hunger  are  going  Christless  to  the  grave.  How  many 
groups  like  the  one  above  described  have  made  their  way 
to  the  accustomed  place  of  worship  to  find  there  only  a 
grave  :  how  many  others  have  perished  on  the  way  lifting 
up  unavailing  hands  and  sending  forth  pitiful  cries  to 
their  various  deities!  Along  many  a  roadside  and  under 
many  a  shady  palm-tree  they  have  fallen,  unable  to  go 
further,  and  with  ‘  Ram — Ram  !’  upon  their  parched  lips 
have  ended  their  earthly  probation.  No  sweet  promises 
of  eternal  blessedness,  no  comforting  words  of  a  loving 
Savior  sounding  in  their  hearts;  no  pleasing  visions  of  a 
glorious  inheritance  reserved  in  heaven  for  them;  no 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


39 


bright  anticipations  of  a  hearty  welcome  home  on  the 
further  side  of  the  river  of  death;  no  songs,  no  cheer,  no 
hope — but  silence,  darkness,  death  !” 

Heathen  birth  to  woman  is  itself  a  curse,  which  the 
Mohammedans  express  in  the  following  proverb:  “The 
threshold  weeps  forty  days  when  a  girl  is  born.” 

Rev.  Ross  C.  Houghton,  in  his  recent  work,  “Women 
of  the  Orient,”  says:  “  A  Hindoo  father  often  waits  in  an 
agony  of  suspense  the  birth  of  a  child,  until  the  announce¬ 
ment  of  sex  is  made,  and  an  utter  desolation  of  soul  has 
come  upon  him  when  he  has  heard  the  words,  ‘It  is  a 
girl.’”  This  author  describes  the  preparation  for  child¬ 
birth  as  follows:  “In  all  Hindoo  families  in  easy  or 
affluent  circumstances,  a  room  is  set  apart  for  the  birth- 
chamber.  This  is  quite  generally  a  small  shed,  used  for 
stabling  the  family  cow,  and  the  floor  is  raised  a  step  or 
two  above  the  ground.  .  .  .  When  a  woman  takes 

possession  of  these  quarters  a  mat  is  stretched  across  to 
separate  her  from  the  cow,  and  a  bed  is  prepared  by 
spreading  a  mat  upon  the  well-swept  cement  floor.  Even 
in  high  caste  and  wealthy  families  every  child  must  be  born 
in  this  place;  and  there  mother  and  child  must  remain 
until  the  child  is  twenty-eight  days  old.  ...  In  the 
mean  time  no  person  of  the  same  or  higher  caste  must 
touch  the  mother,  not  even  her  own  nearest  relations. 
No  matter  how  sick  she  may  be,  or  how  she  may  suffer, 
no  kind  hand  is  permitted  to  stroke  her  throbbing  tem¬ 
ples  or  perform  any  little  offices  of  affection  for  her.  Her 
food,  and  all  she  may  need,  is  brought  to  her  by  some 
poor  coolie  woman  employed  for  the  purpose.  If  the 
child  is  a  girl,  or  dies  in  a  few  days,  it  is  hardly  thought 
worth  while  to  provide  even  this  one  attendant,  and  food 
is  brought  to  the  polluted  mother  upon  a  plaintain  leaf 
(which  can  afterwards  be  thrown  away  as  defiled)  and  laid 


40 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


within  reach  by  some  member  of  the  household.  All  the 
time  a  fire  of  charcoal  or  buffalo-dung  is  kept  burning  in 
the  shed,  no  matter  how  hot  the  weather  is.  Of  course, 
poor  women  of  the  lower  castes  do  not  receive  any  such 
attentions  as  these.” 

The  second  act  in  the  tragedy  is  the  disposition  of  the 
child.  If  sons  have  already  been  born  in  the  family, 
if  the  child  be  needed  for  manual  service,  or  there  be 
prospect  of  propitious  marriage,  the  girl  may  be  permit¬ 
ted  to  live.  Once  again  listen,  O  ye  happy  American 
women,  whose  early  hours  of  motherhood  are  filled  with 
blissful  dreams  of  the  prophetic  future  of  the  sweet  baby 
girl  whom  you  are  sure  to  take  back  to  paradise  with  you  : 
“Men  and  women  whose  business  it  is  to  recruit  the 
dens  of  licentiousness  which  abound  in  every  city,  are 
always  on  the  watch  to  purchase  infants  whose  parents  are 
willing  to  sell.”  To  this  darkest  of  all  crimes  their  lives 
are  committed  by  the  voluntary  act  of  the  parents.  If 
the  verdict  of  death  be  passed  upon  the  child,  the  modes 
are  various.  “In  India,”  says  the  author  just  quoted, 
“a  skillful  pressure  on  the  neck  or  a  small  pill  of  opium 
will  quietly  accomplish  the  purpose.  Often  a  strong  piece 
of  cloth  is  bound  tightly  around  the  chest  so  that  the 
lungs  are  unable  to  perform  their  function.”  To  be 
buried  alive  “  is  a  method  quite  likely  to  insure  the  birth 
of  a  son  on  the  next  occasion.”  In  China  the  child  is 
often  thrown  out  by  the  highway-side,  where  it  quickly 
falls  a  prey  to  cold  or  starvation  or  dogs.”  Another  and 
most  common  method  is  by  drowning  in  a  tub  of  water. 
“Sometimes  the  murderer  does  not  even  take  the  trouble 
to  see  that  there  is  sufficient  water  to  quickly  end  the 
tragedy,  but  casts  the  innocent  babe  into  a  tub  in  which 
there  is  so  little  water  that  its  death  struggles  are  pro¬ 
longed  for  hours.” 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


41 


Life  to  the  unfortunate  child,  in  the  most  fortunate 
circumstances,  is  a  prolonged  agony;  marriage  its  ultima¬ 
tum.  The  first  duty  of  the  parents  is  to  arrange  the 
betrothal — the  earlier,  the  more  propitious.  To  annul  the 
contract  is  impossible.  The  legitimate  age  for  its  con¬ 
summation  is  indicated  by  the  Hindoo  law,  which  holds  a 
father  guilty  of  a  crime  equal  to  that  of  murder  for 
every  month  he  suffers  the  daughter  to  remain  single 
after  eleven  years  of  age.  If  at  that  age  he  has  failed  to 
find  a  husband,  she  is  then  given  in  marriage  to  a  temple 
idol;  takes  up  her  residence  in  the  temple,  subject  by 
law  to  the  caprice  of  the  daily  worshiper. 

O  my  Christian  sisters,  who  have  suffered  yourselves 
to  be  beguiled  into  the  assertion,  “We  have  heathen 
enough  at  home,”  by  all  the  unutterable  love  you  bear 
the  innocent  baby-girl  who  has  flitted  into  your  home  as 
a  stray  bird  of  paradise,  to  whose  song  you  are  to  give 
the  cadence  which  shall  trill  through  eternity,  let  me  en¬ 
treat  you,  never,  never  throw  dishonor  upon  your  exalted 
home  land  or  life  by  its  repetition. 

To  return.  Under  this  marriage  regime ,  education  is 
impossible.  There  is  no  childhood  in  which  to  be  taught. 
In  China,  where  nuptials  are  later  celebrated,  the  inter¬ 
vening  years  are  utilized  in  the  cruel  torture  of  foot¬ 
binding.  In  aristocratic  circles  two  and  one-half  inches 
is  the  prescribed  length  of  a  foot  which  entitles  woman 
to  the  claim  of  respectability.  Among  the  poorer  classes 
this  is  a  bridge  over  the  chasm  of  caste  unknown  in 
India.  If  a  poor  man  can  afford  to  support  his  daughter 
through  the  years  of  suffering  and  helplessness  essential  to 
such  reduction  of  the  foot,  she  thereby  becomes  eligible 
to  marriage  in  affluent  castes. 

The  universal  law  that  ignorance  is  the  only  conserva¬ 
tor  of  servitude  is  thoroughly  grafted  into  the  Hindoo 

4 


42 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


mind.  The  prevalent  sentiment  is  expressed  in  the  reply 
of  an  intelligent  Hindoo,  when  the  general  education  of 
women  was  urged  upon  him:  “It  certainly  would  be 
impossible  for  Hindoos  to  keep  their  wives  in  subjection 
if  they  were  educated.  Our  women  are  not  like  yours. 
If  educated  they  would  be  refractory,  and  would  no 
longer  carry  burdens  and  collect  cow’s  dung  for  fuel.” 
This  reply  indicates  some  of  the  channels  of  toil  for  the 
women  of  the  lower  classes,  the  only  class  who  are  ex¬ 
empt  from  the  life-long  seclusion  of  the  zenanas.  Said 
Mrs.  Hauser,  in  her  admirable  work,  “The  Orient  and 
its  People:  “When  a  piece  of  ground  is  to  be  leveled, 
or  it  is  necessary  to  convey  earth  from  one  place  to  an¬ 
other,  women  are  employed.  They  will  carry  dirt  all 
day,  in  baskets  on  their  heads,  for  three  cents. 

Every  morning  numbers  of  women  may  be  seen  along 
the  roads,  in  the  fields,  gathering  all  the  manure  they  can 
find.  If  a  woman  is  the  happy  possessor  of  a  donkey  or 
two,  the  donkey  carries  the  load;  if  not,  the  woman  car¬ 
ries  the  manure  in  a  round,  shallow  basket  on  her  head. 
When  she  reaches  home  she  works  the  mass  well  over 
with  her  hands,  making  it  into  cakes  such  as  she  can 
easily  grasp  with  her  hand,  and  with  one  sharp  pat  sticks 
them  one  by  one  on  the  side  of  her  house,  leaving  the 
prints  of  her  fingers  on  each  cake.  In  a  few  days  the 
sun  and  heat  have  dried  the  cakes,  and  then  the  woman 
stacks  them  up  for  sale  or  home  consumption.  For  one 
hundred  and  sixty  pounds  of  this  fuel,  which  has  cost  a 
month’s  hard  work,  they  realize  the  sum  of  fifty  cents.” 

“The  women  of  the  second  class,”  or  wives  of  the 
trades-people,  “are  allowed  on  one  morning  in  the  latter 
part  of  June  to  go  to  bathe  in  the  river,  as  they  believe, 
to  wash  away  their  sin.”  Some  of  them  go  in  covered 
vehicles  to  the  great  religious  fairs  held  on  the  banks  of 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


43 


the  Ganges  in  Autumn.  But  “  thousands  and  thousands 
of  these  women,  though  they  may  live  within  half  a  mile 
of  green  fields  and  rare  gardens  for  months  and  years, 
do  not  see  more  than  an  occasional  tree  in  a  court-yard.” 

In  the  third  caste  it  is  the  highest  eulogy  to  say  of 
woman,  “She  has  never  seen  the  face  of  any  man  but 
that  of  her  husband.”  A  missionary  who  had  spent 
many  years  in  India  said  that  he  “knew  of  women  who 
had  not  been  outside  of  their  houses  for  fifty  years.” 

To  give  even  an  intelligent  outline  of  zenana  life  is 
a  difficult  task.  In  Indian  literature  there  is  no  such 
word  as  home.  In  domestic  circles  there  is  nothing  sug¬ 
gestive  of  home  in  a  Christian  sense.  No  wife  sits  at  the 
table  with  her  husband.  He  would  be  polluted  were  she 
to  dine  in  the  same  room.  Her  highest  prerogative  is  to 
learn  what  food  is  permissible  in  his  given  caste,  and  how 
to  cook  it,  to  dress  in  jewels  and  gay  clothing,  and  pro¬ 
tect  her  lord  from  the  flies  and  musquitoes  while  he  eats; 
then  steal  away  like  a  guilty  creature,  and  eat  with  the 
children. 

Without  attempting  to  disclose  the  secret  wounds  of 
the  zenana  wife,  which  have  long  since  passed  into  the 
gangrene  state,  we  will  quote  Dr.  Butler’s  translation  of 
the  “Shaster,”  as  a  general  index  to  the  brighter  features 
of  domestic  life: 

“If  a  man  goes  on  a  journey,  his  wife  shall  not  divert 
herself  by  play,  nor  shall  laugh,  nor  shall  dress  herself 
in  jewels  or  fine  clothes,  nor  hear  music,  nor  shall  sit 
at  the  window,  but  shall  fasten  well  the  house-door,  and 
remain  private;  and  shall  not  eat  any  dainty  food,  and 
shall  not  blacken  eyes  with  powder,  and  shall  not  view 
her  face  in  a  mirror.  She  shall  never  amuse  herself  in 
any  such  agreeable  employment  in  the  absence  of  her 
husband.” 


44 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


“When  in  the  presence  of  her  husband,  a  woman 
must  keep  her  eyes  upon  her  master,  and  be  ready  to 
receive  his  commands.  When  he  speaks  she  must  be  quiet, 
and  listen  to  nothing  else  besides.  When  he  calls  she 
must  leave  every  thing  else,  and  attend  upon  him  alone.” 

“A  woman  has  no  other  god  upon  earth  but  her  hus¬ 
band.  The.  most  excellent  of  good  works  that  she  can 
perform  is  to  gratify  him  in  the  strictest  obedience. 
Though  he  be  aged,  infirm,  dissipated,  a  drunkard,  or  a 
debauchee,  she  must  still  regard  him  as  her  god.  She 
must  serve  him  with  all  her  might,  spying  no  defects  in 
his  character,  and  giving  him  no  cause  for  disquiet.  If 
he  laughs,  she  must  also  laugh;  if  he  weeps,  she  must 
also  weep ;  if  he  sings,  she  must  be  in  ecstasy.” 

(It  is  just  possible  that  this  latter  “heathen”  supersti¬ 
tion  may  overthrow  our  whole  argument.) 

Hindoo  law  seems  to  expend  its  fury  upon  woman  in 
her  hours  of  physical  suffering,  hours  when  Christian 
woman  is  the  recipient  of  the  most  tender  sympathy  lov¬ 
ing  friends  can  bestow,  hours  when  she  learns  lessons  the 
deepest,  purest,  the  Holy  Spirit  ever  writes  upon  human 
hearts.  If  mother  or  daughter  be  ill,  no  male  physician 
may  be  permitted  to  diagnose  her  case.  If  he  prescribe 
at  all,  it  is  after  the  bungling  statement  of  symptoms 
given  by  the  husband.  With  no  personal  knowledge  of 
disease  or  remedy,  the  sufferer  resorts  to  charms  and 
incantations  for  the  removal  of  the  malady.  The  paws 
of  lions,  the  bones  of  tigers,  pieces  of  human  flesh,  com¬ 
pounds  the  most  disgusting  or  expensive  are  usual  as 
remedies. 

The  finger  nails  of  the  high-caste  Chinese  women  are 
permitted  to  grow  to  enormous  length.  If  by  accident 
these  are  broken  off,  they  are  then  pulverized  and  bring 
their  weight  in  gold. 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


45 


If  death  approach,  the  victim  is  hurried  away  on 
stretchers  or  in  carts  without  springs,  through  the  burning 
sun,  often  at  a  varying  temperature  from  140°  to  160°, 
many  miles  to  the  sacred  rivers.  Instead  of  loving  hands 
to  soothe  the  throbbing  temples  of  pain,  still  alive,  she  is 
pushed  off  into  the  river  by  her  eldest  son,  who  fills 
her  mouth  and  nostrils  with  mud,  and  commits  her  to 
the  vultures  and  alligators.  If,  by  any  chance,  she  sur¬ 
vive,  her  caste  is  broken,  the  god  of  the  river  has  dis¬ 
carded  her,  her  friends  will  not  receive  her,  she  is  an 
outcast. 

Mothers  of  America,  whose  high  privilege  it  is  to 
mold  the  sons  of  this  republic  into  pillars  of  strength  and 
beauty  for  the  royal  archway  of  the  nations  through  which 
you  and  the  generations  to  follow  may  pass  upward  to 
the  throne-room  of  King  Immanuel,  have  you  no  min¬ 
istry  of  deeds  to  such  mothers,  to  such  sons  ?  When 
you  approach  into  the  Presence  to  ask  for  blessing  upon 
your  own,  can  you  hope  the  golden  scepter  will  be 
extended  if  you  have  done  it  not  unto  such  as  these  ? 

It  were  well  if  here  we  could  draw  the  napkin  over 
the  silent  lips  of  the  heathen  wife,  and  leave  her  with 
God.  But  oh,  cruel  faith,  she  must  return  to  live  again 
upon  the  earth,  in  the  form  of  insect,  beast,  bird,  or 
serpent,  through  repeated  transmigrations  for  many  thou¬ 
sand  years,  the  grade  of  animal  which  receives  her  spirit 
being  determined  by  the  degree  of  obedience  to  the  hus¬ 
band  during  life. 

At  this  point  of  woman’s  history  we  see  the  first 
genuine  token  of  a  husband’s  affection.  Not  infrequently 
men  are  found  keeping  with  great  care  and  expense  the 
hog  or  baboon  which  has  become  the  earth  tenement  of 
the  departed  wife.  Among  certain  tribes  it  is  customary 
for  friends  of  the  dying  woman  to  see  that  a  hog  be 


46 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


driven  as  near  the  chamber  of  death  as  possible,  that  the 
dark  journey  be  shortened,  and  the  skull  of  the  gasping 
victim  is  cracked  to  let  the  spirit  out. 

Add  to  this  picture  the  many  frightful  ills  which  caste, 
polygamy,  polyandria,  and  all  forms  of  social  vice  entail 
upon  women — subjects  which  space  forbids  us  to  touch 
upon,  ills  often  so  revolting  the  missionaries  scarcely  dare 
whisper  them  each  to  the  other,  and  we  have  a  very 
vague  conception  of  the  term  “heathen”  as  applied  to 
the  women  of  the  East. 

Of  widowhood  we  have  refrained  to  speak.  It  is  a 
cancer  upon  Oriental  society,  whose  probing  would  give 
forth  virus.  So  much  to  be  dreaded  by  those  who  have 
been  nurtured  in  sorrow,  that  millions  of  women  refuse  to 
learn  to  read,  because  of  the  popular  superstition  if  they 
do  so,  they  will  become  widows.  Hundreds  of  monu¬ 
ments  erected  to  the  memory  of  Suttee  women  testify  to 
the  fact  that  multitudes  have  chosen  the  shorter  agony  of 
slowly  roasting  upon  the  funeral  pile  of  the  deceased 
husband,  to  the  prolonged  torture  of  widowhood.  To 
this  has  been  added  the  incentive  urged  in  the  shasters, 
of  purifying  the  family  sins  for  three  generations,  and 
snatching  him  who  has  been  her  tormentor  from  the  Hell 
he  so  richly  deserves. 

We  turn  from  the  sad  scene,  of  which  we  have  had 
only  a  surface  glance.  .  .  .  Shall  we  withdraw  to  the 

sanctity  and  safety  of  our  Christian  homes,  where  wife 
and  children  are  the  jewels  men  wear  upon  their  bosoms; 
open  the  shutters,  woo  the  sunbeam  and  the  jewels 
flash?  The  night  draws  on  apace.  In  the  distance  a 
muffled  footstep.  It  nears  your  threshold — mine ,  dear 
reader.  We  shall  go  to  our  rest  in  possession  of  our 
treasures;  we  shall  awaken  to  find  them  clay.  We  shall 
be  startled  from  our  reverie  by  the  echoing  tread  of  this 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


47 


bearded  monster,  who  with  voracious  maw  swallows  up 
the  loves  of  a  human  soul  as  though  it  were  the  joke 
of  a  day.  He  will  come  again,  lay  his  bony  finger  upon 
our  own  heart  pulse,  wrest  from  our  palsied  hands  the 
leaves  of  the  book  we  have  thoughtlessly  written  o’er. 
We  may  plead ;  but  he  is  deaf.  No  pencil  touch  erasure 
or  addenda  will  he  suffer.  “To  whom  much  is  given, 
of  such  is  much  required.”  That  which  we  have  written 
must  be  submitted  to  the  test  of  life  amid  the  activities, 
the  possibilities  of  this,  the  grandest  of  all  centuries.  Are 
we  just  ready  to  answer? 

The  present  is  a  workful  era.  It  is  distinctively 
woman’s  era.  All  the  forces  of  Christian  civilization  have 
correlated  to  make  possible  the  emancipation  of  the 
women  of  the"  Orient  by  the  pen  stroke  of  Christian 
woman.  An  earthquake  of  religious  thought  has  shaken 
ajar  the  prison-doors  and  we  may  enter  if  we  will.  The 
nations  have  heard  of  our  birthright,  our  freedom  song, 
our  culture,  our  Redeemer  from  the  plague  of  sin.  They 
invite  our  ministry.  “The  measure  of  our  responsibility 
is  equal  to  the  possibilities  of  our  usefulness  for  God.” 
Our  national  emblem,  the  grand  old  stars  and  stripes, 
whose  very  name  has  melody,  speaks  to  the  national 
heart  of  the  achievement,  the  grandeur,  the  strength  of 
the  nation  which  bears  it.  But  when  it  appeals  to  our 
individual  consciousness,  we  recall  a  night  of  darkness 
and  agony  when  the  fever-thirst  ravaged  our  darlings, 
when  their  wounds  lay  festering  for  lack  of  ministry,  and 
we  recognize  the  price  of  liberty.  The  cross  of  Christ  is 
the  only  staff  from  which  such  an  emblem  may  justly  float. 
It  suggests  the  actual  or  prophetic  grandeur  of  every 
nation  under  the  sun  which  rears  it.  To  woman,  it  has 
deeper  significance;  she  remembers  the  day  of  her  chains 
and  captivity,  the  night  when  other  and  innocent  fingers 


48 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


were  pinioned  thereto,  that  her  own  might  be  fetterless. 
To  her  it  is  more  than  emancipation,  it  is  culture,  rank, 
equality,  home,  heaven.  Measuring,  therefore,  its  value 
by  the  sweetness  which  may  be  extracted  from  all  of 
these,  what  is  our  obligation  ?  Obligation  to  the  civiliza¬ 
tions  of  the  East.  Alas  for  a  civilization  which  builds 
itself  upon  other  than  the  one  foundation.  Obligation  to 
the  literature  of  the  East.  Said  the  Duke  of  Wellington  : 
“Educate  them  without  Christianity,  and  you  educate  a 
race  of  devils.”  Said  Dr.  Butler:  “Native  education 
owes  more  to  Macaulay,  Dr.  Duff,  and  Trevalyn  than  all 
the  Brahmins  of  India  for  the  past  five  hundred  years.” 
Obligation  to  the  Christian  Church,  whose  policy  is 
aggressive,  availing  herself  of  new  channels  of  labor.  A 
little  more  than  two  hundred  years  ago,  under  the  very 
shadow  of  the  Vatican,  impious  hands  had  chained  Italian 
thought.  The  fingers  of  Infallibility  held  together  the 
eloquent  lips  of  Galileo;  but  he  had  uttered  those  won¬ 
derful  words,  “  The  world  turns”  and  no  papal  edict 
could  call  them  back.  The  very  winds  which  cooled  his 
fever,  bore  the  message  to  the  murmuring  sea;  the  sea 
whispered  it  to  the  cliffs  which  skirted  its  shores;  the 
cliffs  re-echoed  it  from  peak  to  peak;  and  the  earth 
was  girdled  with  the  startling  announcement,  “ the  world 
turns.”  Verily  it  turns  in  this  our  day.  The  last  revolu¬ 
tion  brings  woman  to  the  front.  Through  all  the  centu¬ 
ries,  under  no  system  of  religious  faith  has  woman  been 
accounted  an  important  moral  factor  for  the  propagation 
of  truth,  if  we  may  except  the  Catholics.  With  them 
woman’s  work  has  been  rather  the  passiveness  of  the 
cloister  than  the  activities  of  life.  Under  the  Christian 
faith  woman’s  great  reserve  power  has  not  been  laid 
under  tribute  except  in  isolated  cases.  The  Christian 
Church  has  been  attempting  to  do  all  her  work  “with 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


49 


only  half  her  machinery.”  Having  at  last  reached  a 
boundary  line  beyond  which  she  could  not  pass  without 
the  agency  of  woman,  she  turns  and  says,  “Come.” 

Again :  what  is  our  obligation  to  the  heroic  men  and 
women  upon  whom  fell  the  vision  of  prophecy,  until  they 
saw  the  far-off  day  when  the  nations  of  the  earth  should 
know  the  Lord  Jesus,  saw  God’s  diagram  of  plans  by 
which  it  was  to  be  accomplished,  saw  the  part  he  com¬ 
mitted  to  their  hands,  and  without  hope  of  living  to  see 
the  fruition  of  labor,  said  of  themselves : 

“Ours  not  the  reason  why, 

Ours  but  to  do  and  die;" 

said  to  us  by  their  sublime  example,  in  the  pregnant  lan¬ 
guage  of  Livingstone:  “I  go  to  open  the  door.  It  is 
probable  I  may  die  there.  I  pray  you,  see  to  it  that  the 
door  is  never  closed 

Obligation  to  advanced  American  thought,  whereby 
medical  science  has  revealed  her  mysteries  to  woman, 
committed  to  her  hands  the  leaves  of  healing,  and  sent 
her  to  the  incarcerated  legions  of  the  East,  who  else  might 
never  know  release  from  the  tyranny  of  pain ;  obligation 
to  One  who,  with  flesh  already  quivering  with  agony, 
withheld  not  his  tender  palms  from  the  cruel  nails,  that 
in  these  wounds  woman’s  hands  might  later  be  so  hidden 
fetters  could  not  chain  them;  for  his  sake,  obligation  to 
the  myriads  of  women,  by  man’s  device  long  bound,  who 
in  the  darkness  and  the  charnel  air  grope  vainly  for  the 
infinite  palm. 

Reader,  sum  up,  weigh,  these  obligations;  add  thereto, 
if  you  will,  with  the  scales  in  God’s -hand  alone,  the 
balmy  air  which  you  inhale,  made  miles  in  depth  for 
every  human  creature,  the  green  fields,  the  song  of  birds, 
the  sweeter  songs  of  home,  the  voice  of  prayer,  the 
chorus  of  praise;  open  the  fountain  of  your  own  soul, 

5 


so 


Heathen  across  the  Seas. 


take  from  its  depths  the  purest  affection,  the  holiest  vows, 
the  restful  smile  of  your  slumbering  babe  (reflected  radi- 
diance  which  the  hovering  angels  lend), — bring  these. 
Lastly,  the  soul’s  e7notion  when,  as  your  trembling  fingers 
just  touched  the  hem  of  His  garment,  the  melody  of  that 
strange  refrain,  “Peace,  my  peace  I  give  unto  you;  not 
as  the  world  giveth  give  I  unto  you,”  thrilled  you.  Lay 
these  in  the  balance,  and  receive  from  his  lips  who 
weighs,  if  you  can  bear  it,  the  measure  of  your  respon¬ 
sibility  to  the  “heathen”  who  are  not  “at  home.” 

Yet  again,  O  reader,  ere  we  part,  know  ye  the  num¬ 
ber  now  living  upon  the  earth,  beyond  your  blessed 
home-land,  who  are  “bone  of  your  bone,  flesh  of  your 
flesh;”  whose  ears  never  yet  caught  the  symphony  of 
that  word  of  all  words,  “Jesus?”  Arrange  them  in  close 
procession,  singly.  Stand  at  a  given  point,  and  count 
them  hour  after  hour,  night  and  day,  without  rest  or  food 
or  sleep.  Your  shoes  would  crumble  to  ashes  where  you 
stand,  your  feet  wither,  your  lips  shrivel,  eyes  grow  sight¬ 
less,  the  very  vultures  feed  on  your  wasting  flesh,  the  bones 
knock  together  your  lone  funeral  requiem;  and  yet  the  pro¬ 
cession  passeth,  unnumbered  still.  Count  them  you  may 
not.  Stand,  if  you  will,  for  Christ’s  sake,  for  humanity’s 
sake,  for  your  soul’s  sake;  thrust  into  some  hand,  as  it  is 
stretched  to  you,  a  parchment  bearing  the  words : 

“God  so  loved  the  world  he  gave  his  only-begotten 
Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  on  him  should  not  perish, 
but  have  everlasting  life.”  “Believe,  and  be  saved.” 

On  the  banks  of  the  River  Jumna,  in  the  city  of 
Agra,  stands  the  Taj -Mahal,  a  mausoleum  built  by  the 
mogul  (emperor),  Shah  Jehan,  to  preserve  the  fading- 
casket  whence  had  vanished  his  treasure,  the  Empress 
Moomtaj.  Its  erection  involved  an  outlay  of  sixty  million 


Heathen  across  the  Seas.  51 

dollars,  and  the  labor  of  twenty  thousand  men  for  twenty- 
two  years.  The  cost  of  the  embellishments  are  beyond 
computation.  “The  entire  Koran  is  inlaid  upon  the 
building  in  the  Arabic  language,  in  black  marble  on  the 
outside,  in  precious  stones  within.”  Its  “architectural 
glory  has  no  equal  on  earth.”  The  tomb,  of  snow-white 
marble,  is  inlaid  with  flowers  so  delicately  framed  they 
.  look  like  embroidery  on  white  satin,  so  exquisitely  is  the 
mosaic  executed,  in  cornelian,  blood-stone,  agates,  jasper, 
turquoise,  lapis  lazula,  and  other  precious  stones.  The 
floor  is  of  polished  marble  and  jasper.”  Its  effect  upon 
the  beholder  is  further  described  by  Dr.  Butler  in  the 
reply  of  an  English  lady,  who,  as  she  retired  from  the 
splendor  of  the  scene,  was  asked  what  she  thought  of  the 
Taj.  “I  can  not  tell  you  what  I  think,  but  I  can  tell 
you  what  I  feel.  I  would  die  to-morrow,  to  have  such 
another  put  over  me.” 

Amid  all  this  dazzling  beauty,  we  find  the  plague-spot 
of  heathenism.  Upon  the  sarcophagus  which  contains 
the  empress  rests  a  tablet  of  marble;  upon  that  of  the 
emperor,  who  now  sleeps  beside  her,  a  hand  grasping  a 
pen.  The  dual  significance  is  the  embodiment  of  the 
germ-thought  of  Oriental  religion  : 

Woman’s  heart  is  a  tablet  on  which  man  may  write 
what  he  pleases. 

In  this  afternoon  of  the  nineteenth  century,  under 
Christian  tutelage,  this  order  is  reversed.  Christian 
woman  holds  the  pen, — the  world  her  tablet.  Reader, 
what  I  say  unto  you  I  say  unto  all, 


1 


I 


